Amy King Cozy Mysteries- The Complete Series

by N. C. Lewis

  Nick nodded. "Passion, determination, and if you have any talent, that helps some."

  Alfred leaned forward across the table and punctuated his words with little stabbing movements of his right hand. "Passion and determination. If you have those two, you'll be a good detective. Nick, I can't answer for you, but if you haven't got the passion and determination..." His voice trailed off and he took another drink.

  Nick looked at him for a long moment and raised his hand's, palms outward. "I'm as passionate as I was on my first day in the department, and determined as ever, but—"

  "Then work the Barry Battles case on the side. Ask Amy for help. Do what you must do but keep working the case until you find the killer. You won't be able to live with yourself if you don't."

  Chapter 23

  It was after eleven p.m. when Nick returned home. He wandered into the kitchen, poured a glass of water, flicked on the radio, half listened to a late-night talk show, before finally heading up the narrow staircase to the bedroom where Amy lay sleeping.

  Blue moonlight streamed through the gauzy drapes, bathing the room in an otherworldly glow. Nick's mind was working overtime. He couldn't sleep right now, so he went to the bathroom and took a long hot shower. There was something in the steam and the bubbles from the soap that helped clear his mind.

  Nick had been told to take it easy was given a desk job, and a direct report who liked to live on easy street. For a moment he thought about Bob Chambers, and what motivates a man like that. He didn't know, but understood what motivated himself—passion and determination. He still wanted to be an outstanding cop.

  The faint aroma of lavender reached his nostrils as he climbed between the sheets. Amy used the essential oil when she couldn't get to sleep. He glanced over at her. She lay still on her side snoring gently. He breathed in letting his head sink deep into the pillow, but sleep wouldn't come.

  "Darling, what is it?" mumbled Amy in her grogginess. She must have sensed Nick's uneasiness.

  Nick reached over and placed an arm on her shoulder. "Nothing, darling. You go to sleep."

  Amy sat up. "What is it?" she asked again.

  "There's something I need to tell you."

  "Yes," she said, wiping her eyes.

  "I'm going to work the Barry Battles case."

  Amy wrapped her arms around her husband. "Correction—we're going to work the case."

  Nick kissed Amy on the lips. "Promise me this: you will keep out of harm's way. If anything happened to you..."

  Nick drew Amy close and they kissed again.

  An hour later they were in Nick's home office, sitting around his desk, reviewing the case and drinking tea.

  "I wish I had a copy of the case file," Nick said with frustration. "I'll see if I can get my hands on it tomorrow, might need to pull a few strings." He paused for a moment staring at the notes he and Amy had made. "The killer obviously escaped during the panic following the gunfire," Nick said. "What happened immediately before that?"

  Amy paused for a moment. "The clowns marched around Barry in a tight circle playing "We Are The Champions." Then gunfire."

  "How many clowns?"

  "Six, no, seven. One of the clowns showed up late."

  "Late?"

  "Yes, he hurried through the crowd and joined the circle marching around Barry Battles. Shortly after that, shots rang out."

  Nick placed a hand on his cheek. Then he spoke slowly. "A clown shows up late… followed by gunfire."

  They looked at each other and instantly knew they were in agreement.

  Amy lowered her voice. "Do you think the clown—"

  "Possibly," Nick interrupted.

  Amy's eyes grew wide. "Find the seventh clown and you've found the killer."

  Nick stood up. "That's a very distinct possibility."

  Chapter 24

  Nick must have climbed the stairs and slipped back into bed with Amy, but he didn't remember it. The next thing he knew it was seven forty-five in the morning, his cell phone alarm was going off, and Amy was gone.

  He rolled out of bed, hurried downstairs, poured himself a mug of coffee, and scrambled two eggs. He finished the eggs and remained sipping his coffee when he saw the note on the fridge door.

  Meeting with Danielle at eight, we're visiting furniture suppliers on the east side. Then we'll stop by Judy Battles' house. I have business to discuss with her in relation to the staging, but I'll dig a little into the death of Barry Battles. I'll fill you in on what I find.

  Love Amy,

  P.S. Ruby's in Houston to visit her school friend Jenny Dougherty. She'll be back tomorrow.

  Nick spent the morning at police department headquarters filling out forms and tabulating data on road incidents around public and private schools in Austin. Officer Chambers bemoaned that much of the information was on paper rather than stored in a computer file. Nick grunted, but they could do nothing but work through the stacks of paper to extract the information.

  A little before noon an old-time work associate dropped off a copy of the Barry Battles file on Nick's desk. The brief exchange of eye contact the only communication. But it was enough to catch Chambers' attention.

  "What's that?" he asked, pointing at the manila file.

  This annoyed Nick. On most days the only thing Chambers noticed was when it was time to grab a donut or five o'clock when he left for the day. "It's not a donut," replied Nick sharply.

  Chambers ignored that. "Looks like a case file. Which one is it?"

  Nick let out a sigh. "Something I'm working on the side, you know how that goes." There was no point hiding it now, so Nick picked up the file and flipped through it. He pushed files and documents aside making a space on his desk. Then he laid out the contents of the folder in the space, carefully picking up and reading through each document.

  A small caliber handgun had shot Barry Battles, twice. That accounted for the shots Amy had heard. The many photographs showed this from various angles. There was no evidence of threats against his person from letters, email, or telephone calls. Interviews with employees proved dull reading. According to the official documents, Barry Battles had no enemies nor was there any animosity toward him by his staff.

  Nick placed the typed sheets, copies of handwritten notes, and photographs back into the manila folder. Barry Battles was an important member of the Austin community, but the police investigation had come up with nothing. No witnesses, no motive, and no suspects. Even Amy didn't see the actual shooting.

  "So, what have you got?" asked Chambers, eyeing him closely.

  "A headache."

  "Yeah, well," said Chambers picking at the crumbs of a stale doughnut on a paper plate. "What I want is to go home on time, eat a half pint of ice cream, and maybe watch a basketball game. You might try that sometime."

  Nick raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

  Chambers leaned forward placing his hands on the desk. "You don't seem surprised by that."

  "I'm not."

  "Takes all sorts," replied Chambers, picking up a stack of paper and returning to work. "This is my type of policing."

  Then, Nick remembered what Amy had said about the clowns. He picked up the folder and went to the reports again. He found the statement he was looking for. Mr. Abay Gómez had hired bagpipe-playing clowns from the Highlands and Islands Traditional Scottish Music Company. His heart beat faster. There it was in black and white—six clowns. Mr. Abay Gómez had hired six clowns, but Amy had seen seven.

  Nick's fingers skipped over other witness reports. Only a handful reported the number of clowns, they all agreed—seven.

  He leaned back, swiveling his chair around and around in little circles.

  Chapter 25

  It was a little after midday when Danielle Sánchez, with a Brighton Luciana tote slung casually over her shoulder, walked along the pathway to Nick and Amy's house on Gaston Avenue. Danielle was a part-time employee in Amy's Studio Shoal Seven staging business and worked as a teaching assistant during term time. />
  Danielle put a finger on the buzzer and could hear it ring inside. Almost at once the door flew open.

  "Danielle, you're here! Let's get going. I told Mrs. Battles we'd be there at one."

  Danielle glanced at her watch. "Amy girl! We've got plenty of time. Why don't we take the scenic route, and you can go over the plan?"

  "Nick's working the case on the side," said Amy, starting the engine and pulling onto Gaston Avenue. "I promised to speak with Mrs. Battles about the death of her husband and fill Nick in on what I discover."

  Danielle half turned. "Oh, this is so exciting. I wonder if there is a reward?"

  "Don't know."

  Danielle gazed out of the windshield. "If Nick is working the case on the side, who's the detective assigned to the case?"

  "Nick says the department is overstretched right now. Detective Wilson is officially the point person, but she has a load of other cases on the go."

  "Do you think she can find the time?"

  Amy shrugged. "For most detectives, it's about following up leads, and if that fails—waiting for a break. Seems Detective Wilson needs a break."

  "Let's get the business sorted first, you need payment for the staging. Then we can talk murder."

  "Thanks for reminding me. I'm liable to go off track," agreed Amy.

  "No money, no business," replied Danielle.

  Amy turned the car onto Route 360 and picked up speed. "How's Stan and the band doing?" Danielle's husband, Stan, was a member of the Tarry Town Revival Band.

  "They're back from the European tour next Friday. Direct flight into Austin, I believe"

  "Which airline?"

  "British Airways."

  "Victoria, my daughter, is flying back soon. I think she'll fly British Airways as well. The service is exceptional.yuk"

  Amy pulled her car onto the gravel driveway that led to the main entrance to the Battles' homestead. It stood high on a cliff overlooking the lake at the Route 360 bridge and sprawled over a hundred acres dotted with expensive guest cottages. The main house had stone turrets, like a castle, and behind it, a large lake.

  "Wow!" exclaimed Danielle, gazing around at the homestead. "Whenever I visit this place, all I can say is wow! Would love a place like this… the band's European tour sold out, but it will be a few years and several million dollars before we could even afford one of the guest cottages."

  Mrs. Battles greeted them at the door of the main house. She wore a lavender silk nightie with a lacy robe thrown over it. And her hair was swept into pigtails wrapped by white ribbons. Looks like a magazine model, Amy thought.

  They followed her to the conservatory with huge glass windows overlooking a lake. Three swans glided effortlessly across the surface.

  "Please take a seat," Mrs. Battles said indicating toward a pair of Ron Arad stainless-steel sofa chairs. She poured herself a drink as they sat down. "A dry martini adds sparkle to the afternoon. I'll only have the one." Mrs. Battles couldn't remember the last time she had stopped after having a single glass. She was on her fourth. "Care to join me in an afternoon tipple?"

  "No, thank you, Mrs. Battles," Amy and Danielle replied in unison.

  "Please, call me Judy." She mixed her martini and carried it to the coffee table, lowering herself down into an easy chair and holding the drink in front of her face as she sat. She took a delicate sip from the glass. "Now, you want to talk about payment for your staging business?"

  Amy got straight to the point. "Due to the unfortunate events surrounding your husband, we didn't receive full payment for our staging services."

  "We are sorry for your loss," added Danielle.

  Judy dabbed her eyes in a rather dramatic fashion. "Barry wasn't an easy man to get along with. He worked in the investment management business growing other people's wealth and making himself wealthy. It's a stressful job; still, I didn't think it would end like this."

  "Do you know anyone who had a grudge against him?" Amy asked tentatively.

  Judy eyed her uncertainly. "Barry worked in the money-making business; that swamp is full of rats. I wouldn't be surprised if… I mean… the police haven't caught anyone, yet… Well, I just don't know."

  "What about a colleague at the office?"

  "No," she said briskly, leaning forward and setting her glass with a chink on the coffee table. "Absolutely no one. Now, what's the amount owed?"

  Amy told her.

  "That's fine," she said evenly and came to her feet. She walked over to a small white desk and opened a drawer, picking up a checkbook and pen. When she had finished writing out a check, she strolled back over to the coffee table, picked up her martini, and handed Amy the check. "There you go."

  For an instant, Amy inspected the check, then slipped it into her handbag. She was about to rise to her feet and leave when Judy spoke, as if to herself. "What I can't understand is why Barry didn't invite me to the birthday party celebration."

  "The celebration?" Danielle whispered.

  Judy paced. "I didn't get an invitation to the birthday celebration at Battles Equity Partners headquarters."

  "You don't say," Amy added.

  Judy drained her glass, paused for a moment. "But Abay couldn't keep it from me. Ha-ha-ha, I found out."

  "How?" Amy asked, leaning forward, her eyes alert.

  Judy tapped her nose and mixed another martini. She downed it in two gulps and mixed another. "I know who killed my husband."

  Her slurred words caused Amy and Danielle to sit up straight. "Who?"

  Judy glanced around the room, lowering her voice to a husky whisper. "Abay Gómez." Again, she glanced around. Satisfied, she let out a strangled chortle. "And you know what?"

  No one spoke.

  "My lawyer tells me I have to move out of my lovely home now that Barry is gone." She sobbed. "There is no money in the business for me. I've got three days before this lifestyle is just a dream! Barry tied everything to the business. I get nothing, not even the swans!"

  She threw the glass against the wall and stepped closer. "I'm going to kill Abay Gómez."

  Chapter 26

  Nick spent the rest of the morning at his desk looking through witness statements and other supporting documents. His gut told him the solution of the murder lay with the clowns, but it remained unclear exactly how. Mr. Abay Gómez had hired a troupe of bagpipe-playing clowns, but there was no mention in his statement of the actual number. Eyewitnesses saw seven.

  Nick read over the statement by Doris, the office secretary. She confirmed Abay had ordered the clowns. Again, there was no mention of the number. He reread the statement, slowing down over the section where Doris explained she had put in the order as was usual for office services.

  Then an idea struck him. He shuffled through the files until he found what he was looking for, a copy of an invoice from the Highlands and Islands Traditional Scottish Music Company. It wasn't a great photocopy, a little too faint, and with dark markings as if someone had crossed out details. But he found what he was looking for next to a smudged mark—six bagpipe players dressed as clowns.

  There was nothing in the file on who the seventh bagpiper might be. When he struck out on the clown's identity, he wondered whether it was an employee or even Mr. Battles' wife—but decided the task was fruitless. He'd speak with Detective Wilson later that day; she would be able to follow up on any leads.

  A little after noon, Officer Chambers yawned, stood up, and rubbed his belly. "Donuts and coffee, you joining me?"

  Somewhat dispirited at his limited progress with the Battles case, Nick managed to sound upbeat. "Of course. I need something to get my brain in gear."

  A little before twelve they sat in the bright plastic chairs of Chamber's favorite donut hole.

  "You see," enthused Officer Chambers munching on a chocolate frosted donut. "There is a proprietary blend of flour, sugars, and flavors. No one else makes them with this texture and consistency." He took another bite, munching vigorously, crumbs tumbling down his many chins.<
br />
  Nick yawned. "Is that a fact." The late night was catching up with him, or was it the tedium of working in the lollipop unit?

  "Now take these round globs of dough some people call donut holes," continued Chambers, holding up a specimen like a science teacher. "These are also unique to this establishment, first introduced in..."

  Nick didn't hear the rest. Despite the coffee, he drifted off into sleep. Chambers, engrossed in his discussion of the history of donuts, kept talking. "This is the apex of the commercial donut," Chambers went on. "It simply cannot be beat!"

  Nick's cell phone rang.

  His head jerked up. "Detective King," he said groggily.

  "Desk work not exciting enough for you?" replied a female voice.

  "Detective Wilson! To what do I owe this pleasure?"

  "I got some news for you. Is it safe to talk?"

  Nick took a sip of coffee, only warm now, and glanced at Chambers who stared back. "Yes, I'm in Dunkin' Donuts with Officer Chambers."

  "Good grief, Nick, you're only just out of the hospital."

  "Thanks for that Nurse Wilson!" Nick teased. "Anyway, I'm not dining on the gooey delights, just drinking coffee."

  "Good. Thought I might have to speak with Amy. Now listen, I can't speak for long. I'm at the offices of Battles Equity Partners."

  "So, you found time to work the case?"

  "Not exactly. Patrol officers responded to a call."

  "About what?"

  "A shooting."

  Nick drew in a sharp breath. "Where?"

  "Battles Equity Partners. Mr. Abay Gómez is dead."

  He was shocked at that. "What happened?"

  "Shot in the face at close range." Detective Wilson paused. "He left a note."

  "Go on."

  There was another pause while she spoke with someone in the background. "It said he shot Barry Battles, wanted to become the big cheese."

  "That figures."

  "And Nick."

  "Yes."

  `"We found a clown's outfit over the back of his chair, kilt, and bagpipes on the floor by the round office table."

  Chapter 27

  Nick sat staring at his cell phone and sipping the lukewarm coffee that remained in his Styrofoam cup. When he first joined the police department, Alfred Thomas told him the simplest explanation is often the correct solution, but not always. "The difference," he had said, "between a competent police officer and an exceptional police officer is the ability to consider less obvious options."