The Murder Next Door

by Ivy Thorne

  “Well, alrighty then,” he said. Without another word, he headed into the house.

  Marla turned her attention back to Jessica. “Would you be able to tell me about Saul?”

  Jessica’s posture was tight and defensive. Her arms were crossed firmly over her chest. Marla could see she needed to be careful how she worded her questions. If she were to say anything that could mildly agitate Jessica, it would be game over.

  “Yeah, hang on.”

  Jessica reached for a carton of cigarettes that was sitting atop a small circular table. Next to the carton was an ashtray. She lit one and seemed to ease up the minute she inhaled the smoke.

  “That’s better,” she said after coughing. “Saul wasn’t all bad. He could be kind and caring. The problem was his crappy upbringing. He was tossed between foster homes and neglected, so he needed a lot of attention… like, a lot. It didn’t matter how many times I told him I loved him, he never seemed to believe it. He always thought if I had the chance, I’d run off with another man. His paranoia was too much. I couldn’t do anything without him questioning it. So, I broke up with him.”

  “How did he take the break-up?”

  Jessica gave Marla a sardonic look that said, ‘How do you think?’ Saul had murdered her new boyfriend, so clearly he hadn’t taken the news well. She elaborated, nonetheless.

  “He was furious. He started screaming that he knew I was cheating on him, even though I wasn’t. I tried to explain I was ending the relationship on account of his paranoia. The man needed help. He was terrified of abandonment; he was so caught up in his fear he couldn’t see his delusional thinking. I couldn’t handle it anymore.”

  For a moment, Marla thought Jessica was going to break down in tears. Her eyes were glassy as she stared woebegonely at the world beyond her sanctuary. The cigarette in her hand smoldered and dripped ash all over the porch. She did nothing to extinguish the embers. It was Marla who had to smother the embers.

  “I moved on and he stayed away. Or, so I thought. I had no idea just how ill he was until… you know.”

  Jessica fiercely dabbed the butt of her cigarette against the ashtray until it was a crumpled, smoking nub.

  “Do you ever think about him?” Marla asked. “Is there any part of you that still loves Saul?”

  Jessica shook her head. “It doesn’t matter anymore because he’s in prison,” she answered. “I say good riddance. He can rot behind bars. I stopped loving him when I realized he was beyond help.”

  The silent vengeance behind her words made Marla think she had nothing to do with Jared’s death. But, killers had been known to be good at lying and feigning emotions.

  “As I mentioned earlier, Reggie is the name of the man who recently was murdered,” Marla said. “Does that name sound familiar to you at all? Do you know if Saul may have been connected to him in any way?”

  “I honestly can’t help you there,” Jessica said. “I’ve never heard of him and I don’t think Saul had either. Anyone who was friends with Saul either realized he was bad news and split or followed after his footsteps and ended up in prison. Besides, he made a point not to introduce me to people. He didn’t want me to direct my attention toward anyone other than himself.”

  Jessica groaned as she heaved herself from the wicker chair. Now standing she said, “As much as I’m loving this conversation, I need to get on with my day. Sorry I couldn’t be of more help. Good luck with everything.”

  Marla thanked her for her time and watched as she disappeared into the house. She felt a sense of helplessness as she headed back to her car. It certainly hadn’t seemed as though Jessica had anything to do with Reggie’s murder, or Jared’s for that matter. What motive would she have for killing him? Could she have been lying about anything?

  Marla swore and punched her steering wheel in frustration. Why did people have to be such deceptive creatures? She found navigating a person’s emotions difficult. Had Jessica ended the conversation because she found the topic of her boyfriend’s murder too traumatic, or because she’d secretly murdered Reggie and knew Marla was onto her?

  If Dane was here, he’d know the answer.

  It was then that Marla wondered how the investigation was going on Dane’s side. Perhaps they’d made progress. Although, after the inconvenience they’d put Marla through, she didn’t particularly have much faith in their abilities.

  A thought crossed Marla’s mind: If the person who’d killed Reggie was copying the murder style of Slasher Saul, then that didn’t necessarily mean he or she had been close to Saul. Perhaps this person only had heard the news of his case.

  After all, it was information privy to the public. It was also entirely possible that the murderer had chosen to kill Reggie via a slit to the neck at random. Though, that seemed like an awfully strange coincidence. The town only ever had encountered one other murder victim. Jared Hopkins had been killed in the same way as Reggie. How could that be a coincidence?

  Marla’s head felt like it was going to burst from all her theorizing. For the time being, she needed to get her mind off of the case. There were moments where she’d found if she stopped straining her brain over a problem, the solution suddenly would come to her. It also didn’t help that she was starving. How was she supposed to chase a criminal on an empty stomach?

  Thankfully, there was a family-owned restaurant situated off of the otherwise barren highway called DW’s. Marla had been there a few times in the past. It served comfort food, which was exactly what she needed.

  “I got a hankerin’ for some pie,” Marla declared in a Southern accent. She had no idea why she decided to say this aloud, other than to entertain herself.

  It wasn’t until she pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant that she was reminded of the regular visits from motorcyclists that the place received. Rows of shining bikes filled the parking spaces. Marla’s car was one of the only sedans present. It smelled of pie and petrol, which could make a decent perfume for the right clientele.

  The moment she walked in she was met with the sight of a glass case filled with different pies and pastries, all displayed over a red and white checkered tablecloth.

  “Hi there, Hun, what can I do you for?”

  A stout lady with obviously colored red hair stepped out from a door flap located behind the case. She was the quintessential country bumpkin waitress. So much so, it disturbed Marla to a certain extent. Her smile was so wide it almost reminded Marla of the expression she’d seen on a murderous clown in a horror movie.

  Marla ordered her slice of pie, blueberry pie, and chose a table in the corner of the restaurant where she was least noticeable by others, but still able to study their behavior. As creepy as it seemed, one of Marla’s favorite activities to do while enjoying her alone time was to observe other people.

  “Do you want coffee with that pie, Hun?” the scary clown waitress asked.

  “Always,” Marla answered in a deadpan manner.

  She’d refused to look up at the woman when she’d replied. Perhaps this had made her come across as rude, but Marla didn’t care. The woman spooked her.

  Once her coffee and pie had arrived, Marla scanned the restaurant in search of an interesting pair of people to observe. Being that most of the customers were bikers, the majority of them were dressed in tight-fitting leather apparel. Marla wondered how they were able to stand wearing such heavy clothing on hot summer days.

  Amongst the chatter, Marla heard a woman proclaim, “I told him to go screw himself!”

  This exclamation piqued her interest. She turned her head to the source of the voice, which turned out to be two tables over from hers. Two ladies were dressed in their studded leather coats and bandanas sipping cups of tea as though they were from a knitting circle. It was an odd sight to see older women −- women who were probably grandmothers to someone −- dressed in motorcycle gear while drinking tea. The juxtaposition intrigued Marla, who subtly listened in on their conversation while consuming her dessert.

&nbs
p; “I can’t believe Fred just up and left you like that,” the other woman said. “And right after the death of your brother, I might add.”

  “Yeah, well, it was a long time coming. At least he didn’t take the bike. Now it’s just me and the metal hog.”

  Marla almost choked on her pie when she heard the phrase ‘metal hog’ said in the voice of a seemingly sweet old lady.

  This woman is a badass, Marla concluded. I think I’ll strive to be like her when I get old.

  “Honestly though, that man is devoid of empathy,” the badass lady’s friend said.

  Her comment caused Marla to turn her head. ‘Devoid of empathy’ had been the exact wording Ashley’s lawyer had used in the letter she’d received.

  The memory flashed before her as though it just had happened yesterday. Marla had been living north of the city at the time, working in a funeral director position. She’d been exiting a grocery store when she’d received a picture text from Ashley. The image had confused Marla until she’d sat down and taken a closer look. It had been a picture of a document, more specifically, a threatening letter written by a lawyer.

  Whoever Ashley had paid to write the letter hadn’t been particularly literate as it had been filled with errors. Marla wondered if she’d simply forged it. The lawyer, or random person with zero education, had termed Marla a person ‘devoid of empathy’ because she’d failed to take Ashely’s roommate specifications into account, or at least that was how Ashley had perceived things.

  Marla almost laughed out loud when she considered the possibility of the tea granny motorcyclist having written the threatening letter. The scrawny woman, with skin so tanned and wrinkled it almost matched the leather set she was wearing, certainly didn’t seem like anyone who’d extensively studied law.

  Though, this didn’t mean that she hadn’t. Marla was a fine-boned young lady. As such, she didn’t appear to be the sort of character who would spend her days working with the dead. It always had amused her to see how people would react when she’d tell them she was a funeral director. They’d either be intrigued or completely put off. Either reaction suited Marla just fine.

  Chapter 16

  A car wailed its horn as Marla almost drifted into oncoming traffic. She gasped and clutched her chest after narrowly getting into a car accident.

  It was while she’d started to drive back into town that she’d experienced an epiphany: Ashley was a suspect. The realization had distracted Marla, which is why she’d almost collided with another car.

  I’m such an idiot! Marla chastised herself.

  The whole reason she’d invited Dane to Orville’s Grill was to tell him about Ashley. How could she have neglected to list the girl as a suspect?! Ashley had known Reggie longer than Marla. He’d refused to stop Marla from subletting her room to a man, which would have angered Ashley. Perhaps he’d upset her in other ways −- ways similar to how he’d upset Sommer. If she had murdered Reggie, it would make sense for her to try implicating Marla while speaking to the police; they’d suspect Marla of being guilty rather than her.

  The only way to find out whether Ashley had killed Reggie was to talk to her. Marla still had Ashley’s phone number listed within the contacts on her phone. Ashley probably still had Marla’s number too, though it was doubtful she’d answer the phone if she saw that Marla was the one trying to contact her.

  I need to tell Dane, she concluded.

  It was mid-afternoon when Marla returned to her condo. Dane was likely still at the station. Would he pick up his phone if she called him on his cell? The idea of calling the number of the police department with his extension didn’t appeal to Marla. What if another officer answered the phone? None of the detectives could know that she was associating with Dane. Although Marla always could pretend as though she was calling him for a professional reason, seeing as she was involved in the case.

  Marla nibbled her fingernails in anticipation as she listened to the ring of her phone connecting to Dane’s.

  Pick up, Dane! This is important, she thought.

  Sometimes she would focus her mental energy on inwardly shouting the things she needed to happen in the hopes that this magically would make them happen.

  “Hello?”

  “Thank God you answered!” Marla cried.

  Although she knew she didn’t possess telepathic powers, Marla often found thinking her desires loudly within her mind did indeed make them come about.

  “Why? What’s going on?” Dane asked.

  “Is this a good time to talk?”

  “Yeah, it’s fine. I’m just sitting down for my lunch now. The room is empty. No one should be able to hear me.”

  “Excellent.”

  Marla retold the events of her day to Dane. She told him about her former oddball landlord, her conversation with Jessica, the gossiping biker ladies in the pie restaurant, and the epiphany she’d had that nearly had killed her. Dane remained silent until the end of Marla’s story. Then, he had something to say.

  “I can’t believe you did all of that without telling me!” he chastised her. “You can’t just go around playing detective. You could get yourself into serious trouble.” His voice was hushed, as though he didn’t want anyone nearby to overhear him. “Also, I can’t believe that guy Basil bought your hair-brained excuse for needing to find Jessica. Did he really tell you to douse yourself in lamb’s blood?”

  “Only if my imaginary rabbit foot turned out to be cursed,” Marla replied. “I think his old age is starting to turn his mind. I don’t recall him being nearly so bonkers.”

  Dane redirected the conversation back to Ashley. “So, you think this previous roommate of yours killed Reggie? What’s her motive?”

  “Right now, all I’ve got is speculation. But I wonder if Reggie did something to upset her −- something bad,” Marla responded.

  She proceeded to tell Dane about her burrito outing with Sommer.

  “You talked to her too!” Dane blurted out.

  “I needed to know about Reggie,” Marla said in her defense. “I wanted to see if there were any behaviors she’d noticed that could have led to his death.”

  “She already said she didn’t notice anything strange about him,” Dane said.

  “To you, a group of daunting men in police uniforms, she did. According to Sommer, Reggie pilfered a pair of her panties and then knocked on her door to return them.”

  Dane reacted in disgust. “Oh, God, that’s nasty,” he said. He sighed. “I wish she’d felt comfortable enough to tell that to me.”

  “Don’t take it personally. She was in shock,” Marla said. “Anyway, I wonder if Reggie did something like that to Ashley… only worse.”

  “That does seem possible. But why would she have chosen to kill him by slashing his neck?” Dane asked. “She didn’t have any connection to Slasher Saul. True, she simply could have cut his neck spontaneously, but she’d had to have been intensely angry with him to kill in such a close-up, personal way.”

  “I suppose,” Marla responded. “Still, don’t you think it would be worth it if you sat down with her and had an interview?”

  “I do. I’ll bring it up with my superiors. Right now, the detectives and I are getting nowhere speaking to Saul’s family. I’ve just been wasting my time trying to track down people,” he said. “The only issue is this: There isn’t sufficient evidence to force Ashley to speak with the police. If I’m going to get to talk to her, it’s going to be of her own volition. She could decline an interview, in which case, we’ve reached an impasse.”

  What Dane said made sense. If he was going to get a chance to speak to Ashley, he would have to approach doing so with caution. If he were to call her and use a tone of voice that read accusatory to Ashley, she might shut down. That would force him to have to look for substantial evidence to arrest her.