by N. C. Lewis
The sheriff turned back to Siggy. "How long do you think Mrs. Williams has been...err… dead?"
Siggy paled and in a shaky voice said, "Don't know, Uncle. I went to see…to make sure… It's ugly as a mud fence in there… Mrs. Williams might have been dead for days!"
"Any...err...odor?"
Siggy retched again as if in confirmation.
The sheriff winced. "Medical team will be here shortly. I'm gonna let them get first dibs."
Siggy straightened up. "Eddie, our security guard, keeps a log of comings and goings. He'll be able to tell you the last time Mrs. Williams checked in. I know she works during the week, so I'd guess it was Friday evening."
Amy felt relief. The logbook might help Sheriff Sykes narrow down the time window around Mrs. Williams’ death. It wasn't much, but at least it would give her some comfort that an investigation was underway. She drew in a breath, awaiting the sheriff's response.
"Friday the thirteenth?" Sheriff Sykes worked his chewing gum, jaws moving with vigor. "Ain't nothing good comes from sneaking around an ole cow pasture on Friday the thirteenth."
"Shall I send Eddie to get the logbook?" Siggy asked.
Sheriff Sykes stopped chewing. "Nah!"
It was time to speak up. "But surely…" Amy fumbled for words. "I mean, the logbook will let you know what time Mrs. Williams arrived. Wouldn’t that be of help in your investigation?"
"Investigation?" Sheriff Sykes drew out the word as if it was uttered in a foreign tongue. "Lady, right now I'm responding to an incident. Ain't nobody talkin' 'bout no investigation."
Siggy placed a hand to his cheek, turned to the sheriff. "Uncle, the logbook might throw light on the time of Mrs. Williams’ death."
"Good idea, Nephew. Who's Eddie?"
The security guard stepped forward. "Eddie Yates, at your service." His voice was shaky, eyes like that of a frightened rabbit, ready to bolt. "I'll check the logbook and get back to you?"
The sheriff nodded.
Eddie darted back to the reception area, shambling along in what Amy took to be a run. It reminded her of something, but she couldn't quite figure out what.
The sheriff slipped on his shades, pulled his face into a practiced scowl, chewed hard on his gum several times and took out his notebook. Then he turned to Mrs. Nudel. "I hears you found the body?"
"Yes."
"Did you know the victim?"
"Yes."
"How?"
"She lives in the same apartment block."
He raised his shades, eyes narrowed. "Is that a fact?"
"Fifth floor, I think."
The scrawny ostrich neck twitched. "Did you like the woman?"
"I hardly knew her."
"Ever argued?" Again, his ostrich neck twitched.
"What are you suggesting?"
He jabbed his finger in the air. "I want details of your whereabouts for the past several days. Now, talk."
"This is ridiculous. You can't for an instant believe that I had anything—"
"Of course not," he answered with a knowing grin, neck jerking spasmodically. "Now ma'am, where was y'all last week?"
"I'm writing a book for the State Bar of Texas on the life and times of circuit judges. I spent last week in court. My husband, Judge Nudel, will confirm that."
Chapter 21
It was close to midnight by the time Amy had finished explaining all that had happened that day to Nick. They sat, steaming cups of decaf in hand, around the kitchen table. He listened in silence, occasionally asking a clarifying question. "The electricity was out for the weekend?" or "Mrs. Nudel discovered the body?"
Eventually, Amy said, "So you see, honey, I never got the chance to discuss Studio Shoal Seven with Siggy."
"Understandable, given the circumstances."
"I feel bad thinking about my business."
"Keeps the wheels spinning and pays the bills," Nick said.
"But there are more important things in life than money."
"I think so."
"Like the death of Gwen Williams." Amy placed a hand on her cheek.
"You don't think it was natural causes?" Nick watched his wife closely. She'd seen more than her fair share of dead bodies.
"No."
"An accident?"
"No."
"So, the county sheriff's department might have a murder on their hands?"
Amy took a sip from her cup. She didn't want to criticize another police department but said what was on her mind. "I'm not sure. Sheriff Sykes seemed reluctant to investigate the crime scene."
"Really?"
"Yep. Said he was retiring soon and wanted a quiet week."
Nick put down his cup and spread his hands on the table. "Whether or not he is retiring, there will be a medical report and crime scene photographs. If there is anything suspicious, the county sheriff's office will assign an officer to the case."
"I guess, but we left before all of that."
"After you gave statements?"
"Nope," Amy answered in a soft voice. "The sheriff didn't seem interested in taking any."
Nick's face paled, eyes enormous. "Let me get this straight. The sheriff didn’t investigate the scene of the crime, and he didn't take statements. Is that correct?"
"We left maybe twenty minutes after he arrived. He quizzed Mrs. Nudel, then told us we were free to go."
"But he took your details?"
Amy let out a sigh. "No."
Nick stood up, paced to the sink, poured out the dregs of his cup and washed it out. "That's not good."
"I know."
There was a haunted look now in Nick's eyes, as though he was about to share a painful truth. "Honey, this one may get kicked into the long grass."
"What are you saying?"
"Politics."
"Eh?"
"The politicians in that part of the county won't want a scandal around their prestigious boating club. That would be bad for business, and their tax revenue."
"What's that got to do with the investigation?"
"The politicians hold the purse strings; a seasoned sheriff understands that. It's just like city hall here. Political pressure is the grease that keeps the wheels of justice turning, or at least it directs police department activity."
Amy felt a sudden sinking feeling deep in the pit of her stomach. "So there won't be an investigation?"
"Sure. There'll be an inquiry. But unless the killer shows up and confesses, don't hold your breath. This one has 'unsolved' all over it."
"But someone murdered Gwen Williams."
"We don't know for sure."
Amy put on a country accent. "This ain’t my first rodeo, honey!" She knew what a murder scene looked like.
Nick laughed. "Sorry, darling, you're right. Forgot about the Beast of MoPac case."
"And the murder in the bookstore, and the—"
Nick raised a hand. "Guess you are pretty certain?"
"If you'd seen her head, you'd be too."
Nick nodded. "Let's see what the medical report throws up."
"If it's a murder, will you help?"
Nick sighed. "It's outside the Austin Police Department's jurisdiction—"
"But you will help, won't you, honey?"
"And there is the little matter of my work in the lollipop liaison unit. What if Lieutenant Kostopoulos finds out I'm snooping around investigating a case that belongs to the county sheriff?"
Keeping her voice calm and casual, and choosing her words carefully, Amy said, "Gwen Williams is dead, and I wonder whether the sheriff's department has the will to get to the bottom of it."
Nick sighed in resignation. "I'll tell you what. I'll keep my eye out for the medical report, and if there is any sign of foul play, we can take it from there."
Amy hurried over to the kitchen sink and threw her arms around her husband. "I knew you would help."
They kissed for several moments before Nick broke away. "So, Inspector Clouseau." He spoke in a mock French accent. "Wher
e do you want to start?"
Only at Nick's question did Amy begin to go over the events of the past week in her mind and try to connect the dots. There was something obvious about Gwen Williams' death: a clue that was staring her in the face. She knew it was there, felt it in her being, but missed it, unable to draw it out of her tired, foggy mind. "In the morning I'll do a little digging into Mrs. Williams' background. "
"Should be easy with the internet."
Amy slipped back into Nick's arms and nuzzled her head in his chest.
It was late.
They wandered upstairs, arm in arm, like two dizzy teenagers.
Chapter 22
Tuesday lunchtime was half-price milkshake day at Moonies Burger Bar. Amy jostled and pushed her way to the front of the line, ordered, and with the tray in hand picked her way through the crowd to a table in the corner guarded by Danielle.
"This place is busier than a funeral home fan in July!" Danielle said, handing Amy a napkin. "Austin used to be such a small town, and now with the booming construction it's like a beehive."
"Don't forget the tourists. I bet most of the people are from out of town," Amy said.
Amy and Danielle glanced around at the lines of people waiting for someone to take their orders. Workers in yellow trousers, white shirts with red bow ties scurried around behind the counter. They chopped potatoes, flipped burgers, mopped floors and emptied the trash. All wore little red-and-white caps with the Moonies logo, a burger licking its lips emblazoned on the front.
"So, girl, we are supposed to be celebrating the success of Studio Shoal Seven," Danielle said. "Any update on a new meeting with Siggy?"
Amy slurped her milkshake through a straw. "Nope. I guess Siggy is busy managing the publicity around Gwen's death."
"Saw the headline on my news feed—not a lot of details."
Amy nodded. "I thought it might be a bigger story, but with the local elections and the news about new apartment construction downtown, guess it got relegated."
Danielle pulled out her cell phone and read out loud. "The property manager of the Hidden Harbor Yacht Club, Segenam Fainéant, found Mrs. Gwen Williams dead in her yacht, the Star of Gwen, on Monday morning."
"Looks like Siggy's taking the glory," huffed Amy.
"Or the heat," Danielle responded as she read on. "There were no indications of burglary. The county sheriff's office said the death is the subject of an ongoing investigation."
"Wonder what that means?" Amy asked, already knowing "ongoing" probably meant stagnant.
Danielle put her phone away. "They are waiting for the medical examiner's report, then they'll file the case away someplace."
Amy didn't like the sound of that but agreed it was probably the case. "Did a little research into Gwen Williams."
Danielle picked up a handful of fries. "What did you find out?"
"Married four times. No children, but four acrimonious divorces."
"Yeah?"
"It seems Mrs. Williams squeezed a king's ransom out of every husband."
"So divorce settlements were the source of her wealth?"
Amy picked at her burger. "Seems so."
"Now we have four possible suspects." Danielle took a deep bite out of her burger. "All ex-husbands and all with a strong motive for murder."
"Not really."
"Why?"
Amy sipped at her milkshake. "Gwen took great care to marry older men, much older and also wealthy."
"Smart girl."
"Danielle!"
"Just saying."
Amy's lips curved into a grim smile. "Two of her ex-husbands are in Lawnswood."
"The cemetery?"
"Yes."
"What about the others?" asked Danielle, picking up another handful of fries.
"One is in a home, with senile dementia."
"Okay, so we have one suspect left." Danielle munched for a moment on her fries, then slurped noisily from her milkshake. "He did it!"
"Not so fast." Amy dabbed a napkin at her lips. "Gwen's last husband is in his late fifties, lives in a castle in Wales."
"In the United Kingdom?"
"Yep."
Danielle frowned. "What are you telling me, Amy girl?"
"Whoever killed Gwen Williams, it wasn't one of her ex-husbands."
"So who does that leave?"
"I don't know."
"Excuse me, ladies," a server sniffed. "Do you mind if I clear your trays?"
"Please do," Amy said glancing at the server. She stared at his bushy, gray goatee, thick, black-rimmed glasses and mentally removed the cap. The yellow pants, white shirt, and little red bow tie almost threw her. It couldn't be, could it?
"Mr. Roerden?" Amy gasped. "It's you, isn't it?"
He sniffed, gave a little bow, face crimsoning, but said nothing.
Danielle raised her hand and pointed at him. "Mr. Roerden, I admire your energy. This is a nice little side hustle you got going."
His eyes darted toward the counter and the long lines of customers. "Alas, this is not a side hustle. This is my main gig."
"But you're the headwaiter at Joyeux Mangeur Bistro!" Danielle said.
"Former headwaiter." His shoulder slumped as he spoke. "I no longer work for that establishment."
"What happened?"
Again, his eyes darted toward the counter. A short, barrel-chested man with a mottled, red face glared in his direction. "I was... err"—he wiped a cloth over the table as he spoke—"let go by the owner, Cody Laurent."
"The man must be crazy as a bullbat," Danielle said, trying to hide her shock. "You are a natural."
"Thank you for saying so. It seems Mr. Laurent disagreed."
"I'm sure other places would welcome your services," Amy said with encouragement. Then she added, "Firing a good man who does an excellent job is beyond the pale."
He sniffed. "Right now I've got bills to pay, and Moonies is the fastest path to the cash."
The barrel-chested man, who wore the uniform of a manager, stepped in front of the counter and headed in their direction.
"Maybe you might ask Cody Laurent to reconsider?" Amy suggested, talking fast.
Mr. Roerden sniffed hard. "Yes, I thought about that…but the man is very volatile and now, alas, it is impossible."
"Why?" asked Amy sensing he was about to share something important.
"Hey, goatee!" the barrel-chested man called, pushing his way through the crowd.
Mr. Roerden, eyes wide with what Amy understood to be dread, froze to the spot. A bead of sweat trickled down his cheek as he straightened. "That's the boss," he muttered out of the side of his mouth. "Only day labor, treats us worse than fleas on the back of a dog, but I need the money."
The barrel-chested man was at their table. He jabbed a pudgy finger in Mr. Roerden's chest. "I don't pay you losers to chat with the customers. Get back to the kitchen, grab a mop and clean out the men's restroom. It's a mess in there."
Before Amy or Danielle could open their mouths to protest, the barrel-chested man turned and headed off to another corner of the restaurant to berate another beleaguered member of staff.
Mr. Roerden gave the table a final wipe and sighed in a low whisper as if speaking to himself. "Cody Laurent is no longer in the restaurant business. Joyeux Mangeur Bistro has closed down."
Amy eyed Mr. Roerden without appearing to be too interested. "Closed down?"
He dabbed at an imaginary spot on their table. "The financial backer pulled the plug, a woman by the name of Gwen Williams."
Chapter 23
"Danielle, I'm not sure this is a good idea. Suppose Cody is the killer. It wouldn't be wise to confront him," Amy said. They were on their way to Congress Avenue.
"Amy, we ain't going to confront anyone."
"But you heard Mr. Roerden; the restaurant's closed."
"Ain't no harm in taking a little look for ourselves. It's still lunchtime, might be a few people hanging around, including Cody."
"If I were him, I'd
leave town."
"Me too," Danielle replied, "but you never know with someone who introduces themselves as The Mr. Cody Laurent. The man's one brick shy of a full load."
"That's why this isn't wise," Amy replied, her voice growing with alarm.
"All we are looking for is a little information."
"What information did you have in mind asking him for?"
"Did you kill Gwen Williams?"
"Danielle!"
They were outside the restaurant. The street, crowded with office workers seeking a place for lunch, seemed less alive than on their previous visit. Traffic clogged and rumbled along Congress Avenue. "I prefer it when we have the parades," Amy reflected.
There was a knot of costumed people under the awning at the front of the restaurant. Amy and Danielle squeezed their way to the entrance. On the door was a sizeable orange poster with large black letters:
JOYEUX MANGEUR BISTRO IS CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE. WE APOLOGIZE FOR THE INCONVENIENCE.
"Now what?" Amy asked.
"We track Cody Laurent to his home address and pay him a visit."
"No!"
A KATV-News van pulled up, parking at the curb. A reporter whom Amy recognized from the local television news show jumped out, along with a man in a pin-striped suit and a crew of technicians. With efficiency, the team set up the camera outside of the restaurant, and the reporter interviewed the man in the suit.
"This afternoon we are outside of the Joyeux Mangeur Bistro with Austin's favorite food critic Henry Escoffier." The reporter flashed a plastic smile and turned to the man in the suit. "Mr. Escoffier, you've dined at the Joyeux Mangeur Bistro. In a word, for our viewers who have now missed the chance, can you describe the experience?"
Henry's eyes opened wide, his tongue darted out of his mouth, licking his lips. "Exotic."
"Fascinating!" The reporter turned to a young woman dressed as Wonder Woman. "Are you disappointed at not getting to dine at the Joyeux Mangeur Bistro this afternoon?"
The woman looked nervously into the camera and nodded like a robot. "Yeah, me and the gals was lookin' forward to it. Came all the way from Dallas. Why'd it close?"
The reporter turned to Henry Escoffier with raised eyebrows.
Mr. Escoffier's respectful nod in response was almost a bow. "Viewers who had hoped to visit the restaurant need to know I spoke with the owner, Cody Laurent, earlier today."