by K. P. Hilton
Bobbi smiled and walked down the hall. She left the rolling piece of luggage she'd brought in with her in her old bedroom. The 12 x 12 area still had the same furniture in it as when she'd left for college seven years earlier. She noted that everything was dusted and as clean as the rest of the house. She finished up and rejoined her mother in the kitchen.
“Anything I can help you with?” Bobbi asked.
“No,” Betty said, chopping broccoli on a cutting board on the counter. “I'm almost done preparing the ingredients for some vegetable soup.”
“I can smell the stock simmering on the stove,” she replied, taking a seat at the counter. “Smells delicious.”
“So how's your husband?” Betty asked as she mixed the broccoli with the broth on the stove, before starting in on the potatoes.
“He's fine. Construction remains steady in Austin, which means construction workers stay busy.”
“That's good to hear. What about your job?”
“Things are busy at the medical center. I'm almost done with the breaking in period for physical therapy, so I should be getting more responsibility soon. I had a couple of personal days saved up, so decided to use them and come see you and Brianna. Where is she, anyway?”
“In her room, resting. Think she may have that stomach bug that's going around.”
“Poor thing. I'll peek in on her later,” Bobbi said.
Betty finished cubing the potatoes. She added in some herbs and garlic to the mix, then retrieved a spoon from a nearby drawer and sampled the soup. Satisfied, she placed the lid on the pot, then lowered the flame a fraction.
“From what you've said, everything seems to be going well for you.”
“It is,” Bobbi said. “Which is why Gary and I are thinking about buying a house.”
Betty rinsed her hands in the sink. “Wow. That's a big step. Are you sure you're ready for that? Financially, I mean.”
Bobbi shifted in her seat and glanced down at the table before looking directly at her mother. The corners of her mouth slowly edged up into a smile. Betty knew the look well. Her daughter was about to give her the, I'm all grown up and have it all figured out speech. Which she was. All grown up, that is. But she was as stubborn as her mother and tended to learn life's lessons the hard way. Betty simply wanted her children to listen to her once in a while and take advantage of the hard-fought knowledge she'd earned over the years.
But she knew that wasn't going to happen today. She sighed resolutely, mentally braced herself, and waited for Bobbi to continue.
“We're both making good money. Plus, other than my student loans, which are almost paid off, we're pretty much debt free, and interest rates are still low. Really, this is great time to find a good starter home.”
“Since your jobs are there, I'm guessing you'll buy in or around Austin?”
“Yes. We're thinking about the northwest part of town and have started looking at homes in several neighborhoods.”
Betty stirred the soup with a wooden spoon. As she took in the aroma she said, “Homes in Austin are expensive. And the prices keep going up.”
“Which is another reason we want to buy now, before everything gets out of our price range. We've saved up a down payment and can squeak out a mortgage payment each month and still have enough to pay our other bills.”
“That's the part that worries me,” Betty said, turning to her daughter again and shaking her head. “If you're financially maxed out and one of you loses your job, then what? After making a down payment, will you have anything else in savings? Any kind of emergency fund?”
“Oh, Mom. Don't worry, Gary and I have a plan. It'll all work out. You'll see.”
Betty pulled a ladle from a drawer. She poured soup into two bowls which she then placed on the table. “Well,” she replied, going to the refrigerator to get some sweet tea. “It's like the boxer Mike Tyson once said – 'Everybody’s got a plan, till they get punched in the face.'”
Bobbi looked like she was trying to figure out what her mother was trying to tell her. But after several seconds she merely smiled, picked up her spoon, and started in on the soup, which she announced was quite good. Betty was quiet for a spell as she ate and formulated her own plan, one she hoped wouldn't get her punched once she was done.
Chapter 5
An hour later, Betty was back at the bakery. She was hard at work on a bowl of batter when Martin poked his head in from out front. He cleared his throat in a loud manner to get her attention. Betty looked up and motioned him in. He walked over and sat at a small table off to the side that Betty used to decorate her cakes. Placing a small leather case on the table's surface, he zipped open the sides, pulled out a laptop and flipped it open.
“Be with you in a second,” Betty said, giving the batter a taste.
“Take your time. It'll take me a minute to power up and get set up.” Martin pulled out his cell phone and used it as a hot spot to get an Internet connection. After entering a user name and password he asked, “What'cha making?”
“Cake.”
Martin feigned a surprised look. “You're such a smart lass,” he said.
Betty grinned. “Caramel apple crunch with Oreo crust. Custom order.”
Betty wasn't sure if it was the word caramel, crunch, or Oreo that triggered the hound dog look in Martin's face. She smiled to herself, then pulled a slice of something from the refrigerator along with a fork and a pint of milk and set it on the table.
“Cherry cheesecake. Saved a slice since I know it's your favorite.”
“All your creations are my favorites,” Martin said, fork in hand.
“Flattery will get you everywhere.”
Martin patted his ample stomach. “Don't I know it,” he said, taking his first bite.
After he'd finished his afternoon snack, Betty cleared the table and the two got down to business.
“What exactly are we looking for?” Martin asked.
“Not sure. A clue, I suppose. I told you yesterday about overhearing Ned and Marge in the alley.”
“Yes. Ordinarily I'd say it was Ned being his usual hot-headed self. But with Marge Nelson being found dead a few hours later...”
“I know. Still, the news reports say that witnesses heard what sounded like gun shots in the appraisal district parking lot around 2 p.m. An employee returning from lunch who was parked nearby discovered the body. Ned was at the store working then. I know because I went in to see if he had any compound for some loose bricks at the back of the store here.”
“Have you already given your statement about what you witnessed to the police?”
“Yes, by phone. They said that I may need to make a formal statement in person later, but if so they'll contact me.”
Martin finished tapping at the keyboard. “Here we go,” he said, turning the laptop sideways so that Betty could see. “This web site has the values for all homes, commercial buildings, and business personal property located here in Magnum County.”
Betty stared at the screen. “Hmm...type in 'Ned's Friendly Hardware Store.' But without the apostrophe.”
Martin tapped away and soon new information appeared.
“Good,” Betty said. “Now click on 'View Details,' then 'Roll Value History.'”
More tapping followed by more information. Martin studied a set of numbers. “Wow. Ned's business' value has doubled in the last three years.”
“Which means the taxes for his business have roughly doubled depending on the tax rate for each year. No wonder he was giving Marge an earful.”
“Why was she there, anyway?” Martin asked.
“Each year a BPP, or business personal property, appraiser comes out and gets information from business owners regarding their equipment. Everything that's not part of the land or building is included. The land and building are on a commercial property account.”
“Sounds like you did your research before opening up here,” Martin said.
Betty nodded. “Anyway, the appraisers do field work
primarily from January through June and yesterday Marge came through this part of town.”
“Do you know what your taxes for this year will be yet?”
Betty shook her head. “According to the Texas Property Tax Code, new businesses like mine aren't assessed the first year of operation as long as they open after January first of that year.”
“A break for you, then. For a short period, anyway.”
“Yes. I don't mind paying my fair share. I doubt Ned does either. The money collected goes toward funding the local school districts among other things. But apparently he thinks his current assessed value is more than a little out of line.”
Martin started clicking various menu selections on the web site. “Maybe we can find out why these figures have risen so much in the past three years.”
Betty shook her head again. “That's confidential information. Only Ned and the appraisal district know the specifics.”
Martin arched an eyebrow at Betty.
“I know. I could ask Ned directly and he might tell me. But I'm not sure I want to go that route since I've already made a statement that could tie him to Marge's death.”
“Point taken,” Martin replied.
“I'm worried about Tom, though. I went over and visited him yesterday.”
“How'd that go?”
“Overall okay, all things considered. He was quiet and withdrawn. Someone came by to discuss funeral arrangements so I didn't stay long. I'm guessing he's still in shock. He said something about taking a trip which made no sense. Also...”
“Yes?” Martin prompted.
Betty rubbed her temples. “Well, I hate to jump to conclusions. But in murder investigations, the person the police usually start with is the husband.”
“So you think Tom may be thinking about leaving town to avoid talking with them?”
“No. Something else is going on. Tom's a kind and gentle soul. I can't believe he'd ever harm anyone, including Marge. Much less kill her.”
“He could have hired someone else do it.”
Betty shook her head. “Not Tom. I just can't see it.”
“Who do you think might have done it, then?”
“Almost anyone who owned a business here in the county, I suppose. Appraisers and tax collectors aren't the most popular people in the word. Especially in a soft economy.” Betty sighed. “It's a mystery.”
Martin checked his watch. “Have to go. Got a report to finish for a client. Need to email it by this evening.”
Betty stood as Martin repacked his laptop. “Thanks for the help, Martin. I'll give you a call later after we close.”
“Looking forward to it,” Martin replied.
Betty walked over to the refrigerator. “Hey, I pulled out a pair of cupcakes earlier but now one's gone. What happened to the other one?”
“It's a mystery,” Martin said, heading out and nibbling on his second snack of the day.
Chapter 6
The next morning, Martin was working on the daily crossword puzzle from his newspaper when his phone rang. Like Betty, he kept a land line telephone in his home in case of emergencies such as a lost cell phone or a local cell tower outage.
“Hello?”
Silence.
“Martin Lane speaking, can I help you?” he asked, trying to get the person on the other line to commit to a conversation or at least a greeting.
“You don’t fool me for a second. People like me can sniff an outsider like you from miles away.”
“Yeah, I’m a regular fish out of water,” Martin said. “Who is this?”
The man on the other end paused again.
“Meet me,” the husky voice exhaled. “Find me in Yellow Rose Park. You can’t afford to avoid me any longer, Martin Lane.”
Avoid him? Martin thought. He hadn't the slightest clue who the guy was. A second later, the line went dead, leaving him with a decision to make.
* * *
The morning heat bore down on Martin's back. Betty didn’t understand why he insisted on wearing collared polo shirts and slacks in this brutal unrelenting swelter. A part of it he chocked up to shame. Shame in his dirt poor lower working class upbringing. Martin's father didn’t wear a collar to work, and he didn’t want to be anything like his old man. Had grown his hair long, too. Couldn’t stand the thought of looking like a working class stiff. It was less noticeable to most anyone else, and he buzzed down most of it when he'd enlisted in the Army. The last thing he wanted was someone walking on egg shells on his account.
Martin's eyes panned across the freshly manicured grass and well maintained pathways crowded with small children. A hundred feet ahead of him, underneath the dark and looming shadow of a cypress tree, a rough looking man paced from side to side.
Martin studied him for a moment, watching as he rubbed his hands together while talking to himself under his breath. He stood alone as children screamed at the top of their lungs from every direction. Quietly, he turned to Martin who could see the dark possessed look in his eyes. Martin rested his other hand on the butt of his revolver, keeping it low enough not to throw up any red flags.
As he began to introduce himself, the scraggly haired man looked at him and nodded.
“Let’s not go there, shall we?” He coughed into his hand, then pointed at the gun.
“You’ve got five minutes,” Martin replied.
Martin appraised the man's appearance. The guy looked like he hadn’t had a wink of sleep in days, looking like he’d been purged of some deeply personal demons. Distracted by the trembling shell of a man standing before him, Martin failed to fully comprehend what he was saying.
“Turn around,” he grumbled.
Martin strained to look over his shoulder. Nothing there.
“No, you don’t understand. I’m saying you need to turn around and get out while you can,” the man said.
He rocked silently, stuffing his hands inside his pockets. Martin waited for him to regain his bearings. Ominous warnings weren't anything new to him. When he'd worked hard news years ago, there had always been some shadowy group of thugs looking to end him.
“Accidents happen to those who dig too deeply. You see?”
Yeah, thought Martin. I see all right. A man who may be having a breakdown right before my eyes.
Martin shrugged. “I’m not worried about accidents. Luck’s been on my side every time. Well, mostly,” he replied.
Nothing felt right about how the man spoke. And it was what he said that gave Martin the most pause. The revelation that someone had it out for him didn’t exactly hit him like a sledgehammer. The man staggered out of the shadows of the trees. Wind rustled the hem of his tattered overcoat as he stepped out fully into the sun. He pointed at Martin. And he couldn’t keep his eyes off of the man's silver grizzled chin.
“Be advised, they will come after you if you cross 'em.”
Then, like that, he turned and walked off.
Martin furrowed his brow, watching the man skitter away. Another gust of wind made him feel a distinct ominous chill. Martin was not one to wax poetic about his own death, for Death and he had a clear understanding. The game of cat and mouse. Death held the advantage, although so far Martin had yet to be caught.
A buzz rattled deep in Martin's pockets. He dug his hand in and fished out his cell phone. He looked down at the caller ID. Betty Hitchens' name flashed in his eyes.
Her breath said it all. It was weightless. Broken. Unsteady. She rushed to speak.
“Nobody has any idea what happened. They tell me they found him lying there out cold.” She spoke in sharp bursts. “Tom is hurt. The doctors said he'd been in a fight, but when I look at him, Martin – I just know he was left for dead.”
“Where is he now?” Martin asked.
“Yellow Rose Medical. He’s in a coma. No one’s telling me if he’ll ever wake up. What if he dies? I’m so in the dark…”
“He won’t,” Martin told her.
“You’re only saying what I want to hear.”
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Martin didn’t bother to further feed into Betty’s hysteria. He needed to get there quickly instead of hearing her pour out all of her agony over the phone. A high pitch screech crackled through the other end. It was her sobbing into even greater depths of despair.
The whole way driving to the hospital his mind wandered. It’s only going to get worse before it gets better, he thought. The parking garage was filled wall-to-wall, but eventually he found a space. Betty had mentioned that they had taken Tom to the third floor. A pair of EMS sped out of the ambulance with blood splattered all over their jackets, rushing their patient through the emergency entrance. Martin could hear their radios beeping in their pockets and saw beads of sweat glistening off their faces.