by Donna Doyle
"You saw all that?" I marveled. "Still, it may not have any relevance to this poor man's death. It looks like a heart attack."
Molly Gertrude nodded. "It does, but don't forget most people wanted this man dead, so we should treat this case with special attention."
"What else could it have been?" I asked.
"Poison," she answered simply. "There are poisons that work in such a way it almost looks like a natural death, and it leaves little trails in the bloodstream."
"I don't know," I said, while I shook my head. "There's not a devil under every stone you encounter."
"You are right, Virgil," Molly Gertrude said, "not under every stone, but some stones have them."
I noticed the man in his suit, the owner, was ashen white. "He sure seems nervous," I mentioned and nodded in his direction.
Molly Gertrude nodded. "We know him well and he's not usually like that. We are in fact organizing his wedding."
I remembered that Jean Pierre had told me his boss was about to get married, but I failed to see Molly Gertrude's point. "Of course, he's nervous," I fired back. "A man has just died in his restaurant. I can imagine better ways of advertising your business."
"It's not that," Molly Gertrude answered me in a gentle voice. "His body language is telling me something else. I will have to find out what it is."
I shivered. What if the old woman was right, and I had just witnessed a murder? Writing an article about a murder was a lot nicer than having to write boring stuff about the great-great-great-grandmother of Molly Grey.
I cleared my throat. "Eh… If you are right, and there is something sleazy going on…," I hesitated, wanting to speak the right words, "… can I report on it?"
"Sure," Molly Gertrude replied as if she was talking about something as simple as changing a light bulb. "You just write a good article about our agency, and we'll keep you posted about this poor man's death."
I couldn't suppress a wide grin. I was beaming. What had looked like a most boring interview was fast turning into a stepping stone to journalistic greatness.
Once we were outside, we had to wait awhile as Molly Gertrude was still talking to someone, but a minute later she came out, looking pleased.
"I talked to the coroner."
"Oh?"
"He said it was a heart attack, clear as day."
I could barely hide my disappointment.
"But," she continued, "I told him he still needed to do some tests on the body, and to look for poison, in particular for Devil's Helmet, also known as Monk's Hood. You see…" in hushed tones she went on, "some poisons are very difficult to detect, even with a blood test, and the symptoms are identical to a heart attack. The coroner didn't think it was necessary. He told me this case was clear, and that he was too busy…" Miss Molly sniggered, "… but I offered him a special batch of Silky Curd cookies if he would look into it." Molly Gertrude's face lit up. "You should have seen his eyes... Did you know Virgil, that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach?"
At that instant, somebody behind us cleared his throat. "Excuse me… what has happened here?"
We all turned and stared in the pale face of a skinny man dressed in oil-stained coveralls. He was wearing a baseball cap, sporting the logo of the Calmhaven Giants, his hands in his pockets, as if he was just taking a stroll.
"Somebody died," Dora explained. "Most unfortunate."
His eyes widened, and he pulled one of his hands out of the coveralls and pushed his cap back on his head. "That's terrible. A heart attack?"
"Possibly," Molly Gertrude said as she eyed the skinny man suspiciously. "And, you are…?"
"Me?" he said, acting surprised by the question. "I am nobody. Just a mechanic. I work for Marlow Messerschmitt, you know… MTC? You must know it… we are the best in town."
"What's MTC?" Dora asked.
The man smiled, revealing a set of not-so-well-kept teeth. "I am surprised you have not heard about MTC. It stands for Messerschmitt Top Cars."
I knew the place. In fact, if my memory served me well, my boss Jack Stapleton had bought his Ferrari there.
"So…" Molly Gertrude asked, "why aren't you in your shop fixing cars?"
The man shrugged. "My boss told me there was a Toyota here with car problems, so I rushed over here. But there's no Toyota here."
"Maybe somebody already fixed it," I said, trying to be helpful.
The man nodded. "Maybe." Then he turned and pointed to a red car parked under a tree on the far-end of the parking lot. "I thought at first it was that car. I mean… look at the state of that vehicle. That car has been through the wringer. But…" he pressed his lips and shrugged his shoulders, "… that's not a Toyota but a Pontiac."
All three of us followed his finger, and we saw what the mechanic meant. There, somewhat hidden out of sight stood what once had been a majestic, proud automobile, but had now been reduced to a laughing-stock on four wheels. It looked like somebody had bashed the hood with a baseball bat, and if that had not been enough, poured out a full bucket of purple paint over the top of the car.
"That's what I would call a picture of misery," the mechanic said, shaking his head. Then, he gave us another one of his toothy grins. "Well, I guess I had better go back to the garage." He thought for a moment and then said in a low voice, "So somebody really died here, huh? Terrible."
"It is," I said.
It was almost as if the mechanic wanted to say more, but no words came. He stared at his dirty work boots for a moment and then tipped his baseball cap in a greeting while saying with a slight smile, "I was looking for a restaurant to take my wife out for a romantic dinner, but I suppose the Crystal Grill is not the place to go to. Good day."
"Strange fellow," Molly Gertrude mumbled to herself, after he had turned and walked off.
I glanced at the old lady. She seemed suspicious about just about anything. Then again, I was only a reporter, so it was best to not question her too much.
* James 4:14
5
It’s all in the details
Two days later my article about the joys of the Cozy Bridal Office was on Jack Stapleton's desk. Well, it was not on his desk, but in his email folder. I managed to keep the article under the required 300 words. I counted 254. And they were 254 Words of pure suffering. If you are not familiar with such things as word count, you may think 300 words is a lot, but believe me, it's just about nothing, especially if you consider I had to wade through almost an hour of excited babble of Miss Molly Gertrude and her assistant Dora. How could I come up with something informative that would hold the reader's attention in only 300 words? As I mailed off my bungling manuscript, I knew it would be rejected.
But that was all right, for I would dazzle Stapleton with an all-exclusive about the murder on Albert Gravel.
For a murder it was!
That much was clear now.
It even said so on the front page of the Sentinel. That morning I had read it myself:
Mysterious death in the Crystal Grill: Albert Gravel, well known as the tycoon about to build Water Paradise
is believed to have been poisoned during a visit to the lakeside restaurant, The Crystal Grill.
Police officer JJ Barnes wishes not to comment for the sake of the investigation,
but claims an arrest has been made.
An arrest had been made?
Who? It was time to contact Molly Gertrude Grey and see what she and her lovely assistant had to say.
I called her on the phone. Molly Gertrude's cheerful voice greeted me.
"Cozy Bridal Office. How may we help you?"
"It's me, Miss Grey, Virgil Shepherd, you know… from the Calmhaven Sentinel. I read there's been an arrest. What's going on?"
It was silent for a moment on the other side, and I figured the old woman had to jog her memory. But she remembered. "Virgil Shepherd," she sang. "How good of you to call. Yes, there's a lot happening. In fact, if you want to come over we'll tell you all about it. If you come ove
r right away, you can join us for a cup of coffee and some of my Silky Citrus Curd Cookies.”
Right away? I was scheduled to clean the toilets in the office, but maybe I could say I was on an early lunch and would do them later.
Thus, not even fifteen minutes later I sat in Molly Gertrude's small living room with a cookie in my hand and a steaming cup of coffee before me.
"What's up?" I asked as I dipped part of my cookie in my drink before I stuck it into my mouth.
"It was murder. And as I feared it was Devil's Helmet. The coroner found traces."
I listened in amazement. "Was it in the food?"
"That would be the logical conclusion," Molly Gertrude piped up, "but the tests were inconclusive. The lab found no traces of poison in his food or his drink, but I don’t think that excludes the possibility that it may have been something on the restaurant menu that killed Mr. Gravel. They admit that they have no idea how the poison entered his body, but it must have happened right there in the restaurant, as the effects of the poison set in almost immediately. Sheriff Barnes is quite convinced the case it cut a dry."
"He was smoking a lot," I offered as a suggestion. "Could it have been in his tobacco? My boss, Jack Stapleton, told me the man was as unhealthy as a cup of Coca Cola that had been left out of the refrigerator for over a month. He was smoking like a steamboat. Three packets a day."
"No," Dora said rather blunt. "I spoke with some folks that knew him. He stopped smoking, or at least was trying to. He went through all the hoops people go through when they want to give up the habit. You know, anti-smoking band-aids, hypnotism, Nicotine chewing gum, and I think he even tried meditation."
The idea of Gravel trying to meditate was almost comical.
"I see," I said. "I also read that Barnes made an arrest. Who was it?"
"Alex Pierce," Dora replied.
I cocked my brows. "Your friend, that nervous fellow, the owner of the Crystal Grill? You think he did it?"
Both women shook their head. "We don't think so," Molly Gertrude said. "In fact, Linda came to see me, all in tears."
"Linda?" I frowned. "Who is Linda?"
"Linda Lane," Dora added as she wrinkled her nose. "She is his fiancée. We told you earlier."
"Details, Virgil…," Molly Gertrude added. "It's always in the details. As a journalist, you should know that," She was right, of course. It was one of the things that had been stressed on the very first YouTube video about journalism I had watched.
"But why do you think Alex Pierce didn't do it?" I peered at Miss Molly Gertrude, eager to hear what she had to say. "You yourself said his body language was somewhat suspicious. I tell you, if I had done such a dastardly deed as poisoning a man, I would be nervous as hell."
"Watch your words, young man!" Molly Gertrude narrowed her eyes, "There's no need for such colorful language in my house."
"Sorry," I mumbled. I should not forget Molly Gertrude was not from my generation.
"But to answer your question, Virgil," Molly Gertrude went on, "Alex Pierce is a good man. He is not a cold-blooded killer."
Maybe he's a warm-hearted one. I thought. The prisons are full of so-called good people.
"You know Albert Gravel wanted to build Water Paradise, right?" Molly Gertrude continued.
I nodded. "Sure, I heard he was buying out small business owners near the waterfront. Most people hated him."
"They did," Molly Gertrude continued. "And the Crystal Grill was no exception. Gravel wanted to flatten the restaurant to the ground."
"Isn't that called motive?" I asked.
"It gets even worse," Dora added. "Alex Pierce and Albert Gravel had a terrible fight two nights before the murder. Gravel hoped to force Alex out of the restaurant, but Alex said he would rather die than give up his family business. According to Linda, Gravel then yelled that it could be arranged."
"He said that?" I gasped. In my excitement I swallowed too big a piece of my Silky Citrus Curd Cookie. The wretched chunk disappeared into the wrong throat passage, and I wheezed and sputtered, trying to get air.
Dora ran over and slapped my back. "Easy now, Mr. Shepherd," she said. "One death is enough for the week."
When I had calmed down, Dora gave me a glass of water and I could focus again on the matters at hand.
"What you just said would give Alex Pierce even more reason to kill Gravel…"
"It looks like that, Virgil," Molly Gertrude said. "But journalists and sleuths need to realize that not everything is always as it seems. If you jump to your conclusions too soon, without a careful study of the details, you are apt to make a big mess of things. JJ Barnes came to the same conclusion you just made, and he arrested Alex. But I think he's wrong.”
I frowned. "Still it is rather strange, you have to admit. Here is a man who wants to ruin someone's business, even threatens to kill him and then, only two days later, he dies in the restaurant of the man he was fighting with. That can hardly be a coincidence."
Molly Gertrude nodded. "But there's one thing you do not seem to get, Virgil. We know Alex Pierce, and you and JJ Barnes don't. We are even going to the same church. Alex Pierce loves God, and as I already told you, I do not believe, even for a second, that he is a killer."
I did not want to be disrespectful, but I did not agree with Molly Gertrude Grey. "You are biased," I said, trying to sound respectful, but as I heard myself saying it, I knew my raspy voice sounded offensive. Still, there was no other way to say it. "Just because the man believes in the Almighty doesn't make him a saint. The Calmhaven Sentinel almost daily carries reports about weird priests, or strange cults that claim their leader is Jesus Christ himself."
Molly Gertrude stared at me, and for a moment I feared she would ask me to leave. But then, and to my relief, a wide smile appeared. "I am glad to see you have some convictions, young man," she said. "I was almost afraid you were a bit spineless, and although I may not agree with your convictions, I am glad to see we ignited a bit of a spark in you."
Me…spineless. I grunted and considered sticking another Silky Citrus Curd cookie in my mouth, just to give me the appearance of being in control, but I didn't. These cookies were not my friends.
"The point is," Miss Molly Gertrude continued, that Dora and I are convinced our friend Alex Pierce has nothing to do with the death of Albert Gravel, and it's our mission to help dear Linda Lane so she and Alex Pierce can get married as was the plan."
I grunted. "Why did Albert Gravel even come to the Crystal Grill if they were such enemies?"
"It's simple," Dora explained. "Because of something Linda told us. You see, Alex figured the best way to overcome an enemy is by making him your friend."
"That's right," Molly Gertrude added. "A soft answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger." *
I stared at them both, not quite understanding what they meant.
"He felt bad about their ruse," Dora explained. "So he invited Albert Gravel to his restaurant. Alex hoped that by showing him he was not vindictive and angry, it would pave the way for a solution."
"And then Albert Gravel died…" I shook my head and could not believe Molly Gertrude and Dora, sweet as they were, could not see what was right before their eyes. Alex Pierce had done it. He somehow poisoned Gravel. He even conspired to invite his enemy in some ruse of reconciliation, and prepared the deadly meal to finish him off. So what if the man was a faithful church goer? When a man is cornered it’s surprising what depths he will stoop to to protect himself. Molly Gertrude and Dora were sweethearts, but no doubt, they were so full of tart-making, and trying to match people up in their lovey-dovey marriage business, that they failed to understand that reality is raw, ruthless and selfish.
"You don't believe us, do you?" Molly Gertrude said.
I felt my ears getting red. She could see right through me.
"That's all right, Virgil," she continued while she chuckled. "Just let us do the sleuthing, and you do the writing. Before you know it you will have the article you
hope to be write, and the truth will be told!" She shook her left index finger in the air, before gathering herself and continuing, "There are other suspects too, aren't there, Dora?"
Dora nodded.
"Who?" I wanted to know.
"Well, there're those thugs I saw from the corner of my eyes, those fellows with their baseball bats. And then there's his ex-wife."
"He is married?"
"He was," Molly Gertrude corrected me, "to a rather disgruntled ex-wife, if I am correct. She seems terribly upset by the way Gravel treated her financially."
I squeezed my chin with my fingers. "I didn't know that."
"Details, Virgil, details!" Another chuckle. "We need to check her out too," Molly Gertrude continued, "Maybe she profits from his death? We need to find out."
I frowned. Molly Gertrude's words made sense.
"Yes," Dora added. "and don't forget half the town rather would have rather seen him dead than alive. There were lots of people he was having a beef with."
"So…," Molly Gertrude said in a determined voice as she filled up my cup with more Raspberry tea, "… tomorrow, I'll be going to MTC." As she was pouring she tilted her head and asked, "Would you like to come, Virgil?"
I wrinkled my nose. "Why would you go to Messerschmitt's Top Cars? That's a waste of time."
"Just a hunch," Molly Gertrude spoke. "But you don't have to come. It's up to you."
"No, I'll come," I said in a hurry, afraid she would close the door on her invitation. "It's all in the details, right?"
"Right," Dora said. "And remember the little detail of that bashed up car we saw yesterday?"
"I do," I grinned. "I actually feel sorry for the owner of that car. That vehicle is ruined."
"We know who the owner was," Dora said.
"You do? Who?"