Jewel of a Murderer

by M. Glenn Graves

  I had no counter to that argument, although my father worked primarily alone. I helped him on his last case, but then I was only eleven going on twelve. Not much of a partner. I don’t think Daddy conceived of me as a partner. I had brains. I had tenacity. I even had some guts. Still, I couldn’t stop his murder from happening.

  “Who is this partner of yours?” she asked, interrupting my angst.

  “Named Sam,” I said.

  “Is he any good, I mean, does he think he is as good as you are?”

  “Never asked. He knows what he knows.”

  “Well, for what it’s worth, I’ll give you the fact that you are probably good at what you do. You and your father. He was good at it as well. You know he and I talked about your tendency towards crimes.”

  “Somehow that doesn’t sound quite right,” I said.

  “You know what I mean. We saw early on that you had such an inquisitive mind, and he used to tell me that you had excellent instincts, even as a young child.”

  “Is that a compliment from my mother?”

  “No, not really. Just an observation that your father shared with me. His observation, not mine.”

  “And you disagreed with his observation.”

  “Just because I disagreed with him doesn’t mean that I was blind and stupid. My evaluation of your career choices is an informed one. Your father was concerned as well. Excellent instincts do not indicate to me that you automatically should be doing the kind of work that puts you in harm’s way every day of your life.”

  “Overstated. Some days I read and drink coffee. No risk there, I suspect.”

  “Clever. You more than make up for it on those non-reading days, I would say. Your father was worried about your penchant for police work as much as I was.”

  “He didn’t want me doing this work?”

  “He never said that, but we did talk of the danger it might be for you. Parents have this strange concern for the health of their children.”

  “I appreciate your concern.”

  “But not enough to call me when you’re stabbed and at the point of death.”

  “I don’t think I was ever at the point of death. The knife wound missed all organs. Nothing vital was harmed.”

  “Oh, goodie, goodie. That supposed to comfort a mother? No blood loss, huh?”

  “Yeah, that took a few days to overcome, but I’m well enough now.”

  “You look pale,” she said. “You hungry?”

  She was good at changing the subjects of our ubiquitous debates.

  “Coffee would be good.”

  “Sit. I’ll make us a pot. You can tell me the story of the mugging. But first, tell me more about this partner of yours. Start with his age.”

  “Don’t really know how old he is,” I confessed as I sat down at the table.

  “Young or old?” she quizzed.

  “Young-ish.”

  “Been a cop like you before he became a detective?”

  “No.”

  “Why are you being so obtuse about this partner named Sam?” She sat down across from me once the coffee pot began making its usual noises, moving towards making us coffee.

  I decided I had to tell her the truth about Sam.

  “He’s a dog,” I said.

  “That’s not really a ringing endorsement,” she said. “What do you really mean?”

  “I mean my partner is a canine, four legs, black all over. weighs close to one hundred forty pounds, give or take, and has superior instincts if not formal training.”

  She was stunned, to say the least. Speechless, at least at first. She only stared at me. I listened to the coffee pot grunt, spit, and moan. It was nearly ready. I couldn’t wait. I needed a distraction.

  I stood to pour myself a cup.

  “You are now working with a dog?”

  I took that to be a rhetorical question as opposed to one in which she actually expected me to answer. I poured two cups. Place one in front of her and took mine back to my side of the table.

  “I have no idea who Sam lived with before he came to live with me,” I said.

  “Where’d you get him?” she said as she set up the coffee pot to brew.

  “He simply showed up a few months ago. This is his first case.”

  She frowned at me while gulping her coffee. She always could drink the stuff piping hot. I was sipping between questions.

  “Let me get this straight, daughter. This stray animal just showed up one day on your doorstep and you took him in without so much as a check to see where he might have lived prior to his showing up at your place?”

  “Not quite the way it happened. I did do some checking around, but it seems that Sam was on the run when he found me. I don’t know anything about his back story.”

  “So, he could be an escaped convict for all you know?” she quipped. Her version of humor.

  “Could be. Time will tell.”

  “Tell me about this case you’re working,” she changed lanes again.

  I told her what had happened and gave her the condensed version of events over the last few days. My mother was sharp enough to fill in the gaps and other details I might have omitted for brevity’s sake. Despite her hatred of my profession, her disdain for my abilities, and her ever-abiding grief over the loss of her husband, she was quite intelligent. And bitter.

  She listened to all of my sordid details, sipping her coffee and seemingly absorbing every morsel of my latest adventure. Once she stood, poured herself another cup, gestured in my direction and after I nodded, poured me another helping of black coffee. I never broke away from what I was saying. She never stopped listening.

  Finally, I finished. I waited for a question or some snide remark. I sipped a few times while giving her ample space and time to contrive a counter punch.

  “My contrariness towards you and what you do is one of the constants of my life,” she confessed and sipped some coffee. That was it. Nothing more.

  Well said, Mama, well said.

  Chapter 27

  I rested that night. Something about sleeping at home even with an irate mother who reprimands her grown daughter for the work she does. Sleep was healing. Something awakened me with a start. I lay there for a few minutes waiting for something to follow my startled self.

  Nothing but silence was around. It must have been the crack of dawn and I missed it.

  I scurried into the bathroom for a shower and the rest of the preparations for making my appearance downstairs. The remainder of the prep post-shower is rather simple for me. My wet locks get to air dry. Once that is accomplished, I generally tie the mop into a ponytail unless I want to show off some. I seldom wear makeup since I have been blessed with good skin tones of a natural hue. However, my DNA has provided ample freckles that cover nearly every inch of my body. I decided long ago that these were added to keep me humble. I have learned to accept the freckles as the-way-it-is. I take the good with the bad. The hair is easy, and the makeup is generally unnecessary. I suppose my line of work helps some. I could’ve chosen to be a model. Right.

  I descended to the delicious odor of bacon cooking. Mother had prepared her full breakfast spread by the time I made it to the kitchen. It was enough food to feed the small town of Clancyville.

  “Good morning, Mother,” I said as I poured myself a mug full of coffee.

  “You sleep okay?” she asked.

  “I did. And you?”

  “Not much.”

  I watched her remove some crispy bacon strips, place them on a layer of paper towel sheets, and then add some more uncooked bacon strips as if the platterfull I could see on the counter was insufficient for two women.

  “Tell me more about this stray dog who is now your partner,” she said.

  I told her about his arrival and his extended vocabulary. I also informed her that he was a quick study in detective work.

  “So where is Sam the Wonder Dog now?” she asked as she shifted the skillet to a cool eye on the stove and moved the last few p
ieces of bacon to the paper towel to absorb the last remnants of grease.

  “Rosey has him.”

  “Keeping him while you travel?”

  “Something like that,” I said.

  She stopped what she was doing, turned to face me, and put her hands on her hips.

  “Not going to fly, daughter of mine. Tell me the truth.”

  She had not lost her instincts or her intuitive radar. I told her the last thing I could remember before I passed out in Drew’s bedroom. Then I told her about waking up in the hospital and Sam was gone.

  “So, he has come back, but you have no idea where he went and with whom.”

  “Correct.”

  I drank my coffee while I listened to her wheels turning from across the room. My mother always was a thinker.

  “And you suspect that the person who tried to kill you took Sam the Wonder Dog with him when he left the scene,” she said.

  “A likely possibility.”

  I traced the lip of the mug with my left index finger while I pondered her logical sequence of questions.

  I took another drink and finished my first mug. I retrieved another helping of coffee and returned to my seat. Mother placed the platter of eggs, bacon, and toast between us on the table. She had already put the strawberry jam out for our consumption. It was my favorite. Perhaps it was a peace offering. Then again, perhaps not. She favored the strawberry herself. It was homemade and quite delicious. It was made in her home with her hands from fresh strawberries grown not more than twenty miles outside of Clancyville.

  She sat down and stared at me. I detected a half-smile. Nothing you could write home about, but it beat a frown any day.

  “You still give thanks for food?” she asked.

  “I’m always thankful for food.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Sometimes…I give thanks.”

  “Lord, forgive my daughter’s forgetfulness. Help her in that horrid work she does. Thank you for supplying the food in front of us. Bless those less fortunate. Give us strength for the day. Amen.”

  She delivered her short but targeted prayer without bowing her head or closing her eyes. She stared at me the whole time while talking to the Divine. I appreciated her adding my work to the blessing. I could use some divine interference even on my good days.

  I indulged with relish her scrumptious scrambled eggs, crispy bacon slices, and whole wheat toast triangles covered with a thick coating of strawberry jam. I ate as if I had not eaten in several days. Mother ate as if she had no taste for food at all.

  Before I could question her about her minimalist approach to the breakfast, she returned to Sam’s disappearance during my hospital stay and the days of my convalescing at home before arriving here.

  “It begs the question, don’t you think?” she queried.

  “What begs the question?” I was lost in the eating of fine cuisine from my mother’s hand.

  “Why the man who tried to kill you would take your dog?”

  I sipped some coffee. “It does.”

  “It also begs the question as to how he was able to get Sam, your faithful companion, to come with him.”

  “If that is what happened,” I said between bites of bacon and my last bit of egg.

  “Well, if that is not what happened, then how do you explain his disappearance?”

  “I can’t, but I do promise you that I will ask Sam as soon as we are reunited.”

  “Oh, that will be a lively discussion, no doubt,” she played with her tiny bit of egg and broke a smidgen of bacon from the larger piece and put it into her mouth.

  “Well, as I told you, he does have quite the vocabulary.”

  “Then he’d better be prepared to explain himself,” she said, smiling.

  “Well, despite his abundant vocabulary, he is a male of few words.”

  “If you can’t get him to ’fess up to where he went and with whom, then bring him by and I’ll get him to talk. My food enticements will loosen his tongue, I have no doubt.”

  “So, when did you come by this dog-whisperer attribute of which I never knew? Didn’t think you liked dogs or any animals, for that matter.”

  “Just because we never had animals when you lived here, doesn’t mean I don’t like them.”

  “Now you tell me.”

  “Hate to break this to you, but it was your daddy who said no to the animals you always wanted.”

  I never knew that. I poured another cup of coffee and drank a few swigs while contemplating her revelation. The secrets of parents.

  I finally finished the massive breakfast-feast and was preparing mentally to say my goodbyes to my mother. I wasn’t in such a hurry, but I did need to be on my way sooner rather than later. Still, with my mother, I usually had to plot a verbal course or run the risk of waking her internal beast.

  “What’s your next move?” she said as she sat down opposite me with her coffee cup full once again.

  “You mean the case, right?” I said.

  “Well, I know you’re leaving today to return to Norfolk. I’m getting used to your quick entrances and exits. So, yeah, I’m referring to your murder case.”

  “I’m considering more background work on Drew Sizemore and why he was killed.”

  “Other than the obvious reason,” she said.

  “Other than that.”

  “I’m no investigator, but I’d say that the first murder is the one on which you should focus.”

  “Does that mean you would think that the other two are merely collateral damage?”

  “You might take that track, but that’s not where I’m really at. Unless the first two were mere diversions and the third one was the focus for that killer, you almost have to believe that the first one, the young woman, was his focus.”

  I thought about her comments. Maybe she had a point. Focus on Candace Glover.

  “You don’t usually have any specific comments to make about my work,” I said. I was thinking that she always had an opinion regarding my work, but her flavored commentary was usually more generic than specific.

  “When young folks die, I always think it such a waste.”

  I thought about my father, who was not very old when he was gunned down just outside the kitchen door in our back driveway.

  “Yeah, I get that,” I said. “Have any ideas floating around inside you regarding that first murder?”

  “Nothing that might aid you, I suspect. I could call your Aunt Margaret and give her the lowdown. We could put our heads together and see what we come up with,” she said.

  “Right. You and Margaret, Sherlock and Watson…engaging the criminal element of Norfolk, Virginia with your ever-present sleuthing prowess.”

  “Don’t be nasty. We’re not dumb, you know.”

  “Margaret’s an artist and you’re…,” I hesitated, not knowing what noun to put in that slot.

  “I’m what?” she said somewhat defensively.

  “Mostly a troublemaker.”

  “Well, sissy, you inherited the gene,” she said as she sat back down in her chair and sipped her coffee silently.

  “Heard anything from Scott?” I said, changing the subject as smoothly as I knew how.

  “He’s out in the Midwest making money. You know sometimes I think he has more kinship with Uncle Walters than with me.”

  “And yet,” I began and didn’t finish the sentence.

  “Yeah,” she said, “and yet. But my brother is a shrewd businessman. I’m not sure I see that in Scott, at least I didn’t see it while he was growing up in front of me.”

  “Nor I, Mother. Maybe he was taught by someone. He’s been gone from here for a few years now.”

  “Maybe so, but I just hope that whatever he’s involved in is legal.”

  “Scott is smart. I have no question that what he is doing is above board,” I added, more to assuage any latent fears a mother might have about a child long gone.

  “If you had used your brain and gone along a different p
ath…,” she stopped short.

  “Don’t start again. We’re civil with each other at the moment. Let’s leave my career choices out of the equation if you want me to go my way on a more peaceful note.”

  “You know how I feel.”

  “Clearly. I shall give my new partner your fondest of greetings. He will no doubt look forward to meeting you.”

  “And I, him,” she said.

  “I’ll let you know about the case. If anything develops along your line of thinking, I’ll be sure to give you credit. Meanwhile, if you come up with an idea about a motive, let me hear from you.”

  “You’ll actually take my call?”

  “Yes, Mother. I will answer the phone when and if you call.”

  “I pray for you, you know,” she said rather solemnly.

  I stopped at the back door en route to my car. I turned and our eyes met.

  “I just may be the only detective in the entire cosmos who is prayed for,” I said and smiled.

  “Might be the singular fact of your uniqueness,” she said. “May also be the reason you’re still alive.”

  She moved quickly away for fear of emotion. She was headed to the sink to finish washing the dishes. Things to do.

  Chapter 28

  “This is extremely enlightening,” Rogers said as I retrieved some coffee and paused in my telling of the tale. “Your mother actually had an idea for that case. Surprise, surprise, huh?”

  “Surprised me, yes. She seldom involves herself in my cases, except for the ones she enlisted my help.”

  “And from what I have stored in my hard drive, she wasn’t joking about her feelings toward Sam,” Rogers said.

  “Yeah, that relationship took some time, but she finally came around. They’re now big buddies, but back then she was guarded in establishing any new relationships, even with a dog.”

  Sam raised his head from the couch pillow and turned a little to look in my direction. He had a notion in his eyes, but then thought better of the idea and laid his head back on the pillow. Back to dreamland. No doubt he heard the mentioning of his name in my recap.

  I chose not to divulge any further details of my mother’s prayer life to Rogers.