A Murder In Parlor Harbor

by Arno B. Zimmer

  Jerry fell back on the davenport and Woody started laughing uncontrollably. “You’re the Einstein, my friend; just brilliant. Where do you come up with this stuff?” Woody asked, wide-eyed, before adding, “Oh, by the way, in the real world, snouts like us open at Pappy’s tomorrow so I’m going to bed. You coming up soon?”

  “Go ahead, Woody. I’ll step outside and commune with nature for a bit, maybe even bark at the moon like a prairie dog” Jerry said, shooing his friend away.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Pappy’s Snack Shack

  It had begun in a tiny, deserted tin shack at the edge of the lake over fifty years ago when twenty-year old Alonso Valverde, who had earlier jumped from a South American freighter anchored on the water and miraculously made it to shore, hung a hand-written sign on the door advertising empanadas for five cents each. Curiosity and the enticing aroma gradually brought locals and visitors to the door of the shack, not knowing what to expect. They couldn’t pronounce it but after biting into their first empanada, they were addicted. In addition to his location, Alonso had two more things working for him – he was indefatigable and he had a secret tangy sauce created by his mother back in Costa Rica.

  Word spread quickly and hungry boaters coming ashore made a beeline to Alonso’s tin shack to feast on the tasty wraps filled with cheese, potatoes, beans and whatever meat was readily available to Alonso that particular week. He had purchased a beat-up deep fryer to prepare the wheat dough but with his earnings he was able to buy two more fryers within a month. For over a year, Alonso slept on a cot in the rear of the shack, listening to the soft rhythms of the water and dreaming big.

  Alonso had a vision and was wise enough to know that his name would not be a draw beyond the local folks who had come to trust him. He wanted something wholesome – with a folksy American ring to it. At the docks one day, he overheard some well-dressed children call an elderly man “Pappy”. The old man was tall and distinguished with a mane of flowing white hair that gave him the commanding look of Triton rising from the sea. The children tugged at his sleeves and craned their necks to look up at him with beatific gazes. Perhaps he was their grandfather but, if not, he was clearly venerated by them and that was good enough for Alonso.

  Over the years, Pappy’s became an institution in Parlor Harbor and the rickety tin shack was expanded to add seating and a kitchen. By the early 1950s, Alonso was able to convert an abandoned store on the main drag into his dream restaurant with a U-shaped bar where patrons could look at each other rather than stare at themselves in a mirror. There was also a large room for parties and an expansive dining area with a panoramic view of the water.

  By 1967, Alonso was dead and his grandson Enrique ran the enterprise in a business-like way as the college-educated young man that his grandfather never was. The back cover of the menu was an encomium to the original Pappy’s Snack Shack. Right below the glowing tribute was a grainy picture of young Alonso standing next to his original tin shack, proudly holding an empanada in his hand.

  ***

  Woody and Jerry had lined up summer jobs at Pappy’s months before graduation and found nothing demeaning about college graduates working as “pearl divers”, scrubbing large pots side by side in the deep kitchen sinks.

  “How’s your Dad, Jer?” Woody asked as he flipped a large pot over to rinse off the soap. “Hangin’ in there, Woody. He wants to retire soon but if Priscilla goes to college, he’ll probably wait until she graduates. You know, he still laughs about the time we snuck into his workroom to gawk at the nude calendar of Marilyn Monroe. She would be pretty tame stuff today if she were still alive, eh? Hey, did you see where that other blonde bombshell with the big bazookas just died in a gruesome accident. Beheaded while driving her convertible. Jayne Mansfield.”

  Jerry was staring at Woody who was still daydreaming about that first introduction to sensuality in Jerry’s basement and hadn’t heard a word his friend said. “Yeah, and then we rushed off from Marilyn Monroe to make movie dates like dogs in heat. What were their names, Jer?”

  “How could you forget? Mine was Candy Porfumo. Found out later that she was wearing falsies under that tight sweater. Plus, she cleaned me out at the snack bar then gave me the cold shoulder in the movies. It was my first lesson in dealing with conniving women. I had no amorous expectations, Woody, just wanted to get to first base. But heck, you were in love, as I recall.”

  “Millie Coyle” Woody said, smiling softly as he finally conjured up her angelic image. “She moved away the next summer and we both promised to write. I decided to wait for her letter and that was the end of it. Oh, well.”

  Their shift was ending and the boys took off their aprons and laughed as they examined their wrinkled hands. “Look at us; we’re a couple of old men, Woody. Let’s go out to the bar and knock down a few cream ales before heading back to the cottage. I can tell you’re all broken up about Jayne Mansfield” said Jerry bemusedly. “What?” was all Woody said as they walked out of the kitchen.

  ***

  It was late afternoon and the bar was already crowded when Woody and Jerry nudged their way in at the rail on one end and surveyed the mix of patrons young and old. “Isn’t that your buddy Birdsie from Thorndyke sitting with that cute blonde with the long hair?” Jerry asked, pointing to a section where the bar started to make its curve. “Hey, I think she just waved to me, Woody” Jerry said with surprise. “Relax, Jer, she was just hand combing her hair back” Woody dead-panned. “She’s pure pulchritude and I mean choice, man. Reminds me of Jackie De Shannon” Jerry said dreamily, conjuring up an image of the pop singer and ignoring his friend’s explanation. “Huh?” Woody responded, frowning but suppressing a grin. He didn’t want to encourage Jerry to release a torrent of polysyllabic words that would then force him to ask what they meant. At the same time, it brought back fond memories of their vocabulary games as ten-year olds.

  Jerry’s voice must have carried because at that moment Birdsie turned and raised his glass in salute. Woody’s expression was stoic but he did force a weak smile before looking down, hoping that Birdsie would take the hint and stay put. Woody had never renewed his invitation to Birdsie to pay a visit but then maybe the girl had extended one. After all, Parlor Harbor was a popular summer venue.

  Woody was leaning with his back against the bar rail to avoid catching even a glimpse of Birdsie when he felt a finger poking hard into his shoulder. He turned to face a Birdsie who looked like he had been on a week-long bender. His hair was longer, dirty and straggly, and held back from his face by a leather headband. His cheeks were florid and his chin boasted a scruffy goatee. His bright yellow tee shirt was dominated by a large red peace symbol. Multi-colored love beads hung from his neck.

  “Why so dour, Woody? No friendly greeting for a fellow alum who you asked to come visit you?” Birdsie was smirking and slurring his words as he leaned into Woody. “Ease up, Birdsie, you’re blitzed. Give me some space and don’t be such an ass. I waved to you after I figured out it was actually you decked out in official hippie garb. What’d you do, go back to Frisco to get outfitted for the summer?” Woody couldn’t resist the sarcastic retort and, feeling crowded, gently pushed Birdsie back a few steps with both hands.

  “Hey, don’t go ape shit and start shoving me around. Look at my shirt, man. I’m a peace-loving guy, not a war monger like some people. Haven’t you heard, it’s the Summer of Love. You still a hawk, gung-ho on teaching the Commies a lesson?” Birdsie was swaying back and forth and, purposely or not, leaned right into Woody who pushed back more aggressively that he intended, causing Birdsie to topple over backwards.

  Jerry quickly interceded and helped Birdsie to his feet, propping him up with one arm. Birdsie glared at Woody through red, puffy eyes. His lips were moving but no words came out. By this time, people were staring and Birdsie’s female companion, looking embarrassed, appeared and started to guide him back to their stools in the middle of the bar. As Birdsie stumbled away, he turned and said, “You’re t
he asshole, Woody, not me.”

  Jerry quickly stepped in and said, “Let’s go, Woody, he’s crocked and will probably be back down here again looking to start something. What could a classy girl like her see in a loser like him?”

  Woody sighed, shook his head and said nothing but quickly downed the remainder of his Genesee Cream Ale. Walking toward the door, he looked back to see Birdsie leaning into the bar rail and glimpsed someone with red hair standing behind him. Woody did a double take and looked again but there was no one there.

  Outside, Woody and Jerry were only a few steps from the restaurant when they heard a female voice. They turned to see Birdsie’s date rushing toward them. Woody hadn’t taken a good look at her in all the commotion at the bar but Jerry was right. She was star quality alright.

  “Listen, I’m Nellie Birdsong and want to apologize for my cousin. He showed up unexpectedly for the weekend and he just seems to have lost it tonight. I have no idea what might have come between the two of you back at school. He’ll probably regret what he did when he sobers up. Well, I better go look after him before he picks an argument with someone else.” She pushed her lush blonde hair back from her forehead and smiled softly before turning away, leaving both boys at a loss for words. Woody seemed to gaze past her but Jerry stared and turned crimson.

  “It’s funny, Jer. We were pretty tight for most of the time at Thorndyke but now I can’t even stand to be around the guy. It seems like all he wants to do is provoke me. Damn it, I should never have pushed him but it didn’t seem like it was enough to knock him over.”

  “Hey, you could have decked him with a feather” Jerry said with exasperation. “Put him out of your mind, he’s not worth it. I’m more interested in his cousin. Was she knock-out gorgeous or what? I wouldn’t mind taking her down to the lake to watch the submarine races.”

  “That she was, Jer. I’d say more of a Joni Mitchell look-alike, though. Hey, speaking of the lake, I’m going to take a walk down by the water and think about how to handle this situation with Birdsie. If he’s in town for the weekend and I can catch him sober, maybe we can reason this whole thing out. Go on ahead. I’ll see you back at the cottage.”

  “Okay, pal, but don’t go over-analyzing the situation and start blaming yourself. The guy acted like an asshole, pure and simple. And in case you didn’t notice, he wreaked of marijuana as well as booze. See you in a bit.” Jerry said, eye-balling his friend until he nodded his head yes.

  Woody stuffed his hands in his pockets and ambled slowly down the path leading to the harbor, hoping that he would have an epiphany before he got there. He hated any kind of confrontation and tended to automatically blame himself when it occurred. Jerry was probably right. Let it go for now. He would make the effort to find Birdsie and try to patch things up before the weekend was over.

  Then Woody remembered that he didn’t have any idea where Birdsie’s cousin lived. Jerry was right, she certainly was gorgeous. He would wait until Birdsie left town and then keep an eye out for her.

  ***

  The sun was starting its slow descent toward the horizon, fringing the lake with a mixture of rich purplish hues. Woody looked out on the gleaming water with its soft ripples and started to feel better. He picked up a gnarled stick and was poking it aimlessly into the coarse brown sand as he ambled along. He looked down the water’s edge and saw the steamboat with its enormous paddle wheel anchored at the dock. A shadowy figure emerged from the trees and climbed the moveable walkway to the lower deck, quickly disappearing from view.

  Woody’s thoughts turned back to Birdsie. He wasn’t a bad sort but their relationship had inexplicably started to deteriorate shortly after the first incident at the gym. Was it just because of the war or was it the dope? Perhaps, a combination of the two? Parlor Harbor was a small town and he would make an effort to find Birdsie tomorrow. Woody pounded the stick into the sand, as if to put an exclamation point on his decision, and turned away from the water to head back to the cottage.

  As he was about to cross the frontage road, a car came around the curve toward him and he leaped back, instinctively pointing the stick toward the vehicle. The car swerved to the left, away from Woody, but slowed briefly before quickly accelerating. In that moment, under a streetlamp, Woody caught a glimpse of the gaunt, gray, drawn-out face of an old man in the passenger seat with his mouth agape, frozen in abject fear as he stared at Woody through the glass.

  Woody followed the car as it weaved up the road with a look of puzzled bemusement on his face. Suddenly, he burst out laughing and yelled into the fading sunset “Crazy old coot!” Maybe he thought this stick was a rifle, he said to himself. Woody tossed the stick to the ground and walked on to Pritchard Cottage.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Back at Pritchard Cottage

  When Woody walked into the cottage, Jerry was sitting on the couch with Loren Eiseley’s The Immense Journey on his lap, staring trance-like up at the ceiling while pushing his glasses up with his index finger. Seeing his friend in this pose, it reminded Woody of the many times he tracked Jerry down in the library stacks when they were kids, trying to lure him outside. Back then, Jerry was already a precocious autodidact, an amusing prodigy to most adults and a source of mockery for some kids. But Woody had always held his best friend in awe.

  At 22, Jerry still looked like an oversized boy. He was 6’ 3” tall and well over 200 lbs. but he had the soft, clear skin of a child and a barely discernable beard. A mop of tussled, brown hair hung down on his forehead, almost touching his tortoise shell glasses. He had his mop-top long before the Beatles made it a cool hair-do and resented the insinuation that he was emulating the Fab Four. His white tee shirt bore the image of Henry David Thoreau. Someone at Pythian College had told him that he looked like Micky Dolenz of The Monkees but it did not sit well with Jerry and was not repeated.

  Jerry had been mercilessly pressured and then ridiculed by the high school football coach for not joining the team but he was impervious to his attacks. It was said, with some truth, that he loved books more than parties and girls but it was as much a defense mechanism, or safe haven, as anything else. When he joined the school orchestra and took up the bassoon, the coach was apoplectic every time he caught a glimpse of his would-be defensive lineman, lugging his over-sized instrument case in the hallway with perfect aplomb.

  Jerry blinked and his eyebrows went up as he looked at Woody standing in the doorway, watching to see if his friend had walked off his confrontation with Birdsie. When Woody smiled, Jerry grinned and slammed his book shut. “Can you smell those dogs I fried up? Grab one. Oh, and see if you can find the church key or there’s no more beer for either of us tonight, pal” Jerry said playfully as if issuing a mock order.

  ***

  A few hours later, as Woody headed to the kitchen for more beers, the sound of sirens started to build and then there were flashing lights on the walls of the cottage. Both boys jumped up from the couch when there was a loud knock at the door. Woody opened it and stared through the screen at Sheriff Harold Grimsley. He had his right hand resting on the handle of his gun, still in its holster, as he said in a deep baritone voice, “Please step outside, son, and walk in front of me to the cruiser.”

  The boys looked out and saw two police cars with lights flashing, one near the porch parked at an angle and the other at the end of the driveway as if positioned as a rear blocking guard. When Jerry tried to follow Woody out the door, Grimsley held up his arm with the palm of his hand facing out like a stop sign. “Stay put, lad. I just want young Meacham here to accompany me outside for a quick identification. It won’t take but a minute.” Grimsley tried to force a smile but his tone belied any hint of friendliness.

  Grimsley pointed to the cruiser nearest the cottage as Woody looked back at him for direction. The sheriff then walked up next to Woody and guided him to the back door on the passenger side. Sitting there was the frightened old man Woody had seen in the car down by the water earlier that evening. He looked disorien
ted when Grimsley shouted through the closed window. “Is this the person you saw and reported to the police?” The old man meekly nodded yes and then slid toward the middle of the car as if he expected Woody to open the door and lunge at him. Woody peered in the back seat and could see the elderly woman who had been driving the car sitting next to the old man.

  Grimsley motioned to the other cruiser and a deputy ran up immediately. “Officer Benjamin, drive these nice folks back to the station so we can get their statements.” Turning to Woody, he said, “I need to have you come with me, son. Something tragic happened down by the water a bit ago and we have a few questions to ask you. Just an informal chat, nothing more. You’re not being accused of anything at this time so no reason to be alarmed.” Once again, Grimsley struggled to sound compassionate but it wasn’t authentic.

  Woody looked back at Jerry standing by the cottage door, sensing that something was terribly wrong as he climbed into Sheriff Grimsley’s car.

  CHAPTER NINE

  In the Parlor Harbor Jail

  Birdsie was getting sloppy drunk and Nellie was having no success trying to rein him in. She made a feeble attempt to defend Woody which only inflamed her cousin more. People at the bar were giving him a wide berth as he swayed side to side and then grabbed the brass rail to stop from tumbling over. When he tried to order a drink, she gave the bartender the “no” sign which provoked Birdsie into flailing his arms as he staggered toward the door.

  “Gwon hum” Birdsie mumbled as he shuffled out to the sidewalk. Nellie followed him and put a hand gently on his shoulder but he jerked it off and stumbled away. Exasperated by now, she turned and went back into Pappy’s. They had a tab at the bar and she wanted to pay it before catching up with her cousin. He won’t get far, she reasoned.