“I figure we’re going to find more of those,” Calvin added as he went back to collecting the other rope from stiff Charlie’s other leg. Everyone couldn’t help but glance over at the large tent pole still standing at attention.
“Tell them what you told me,” Lemkie said to Calvin.
Calvin set himself to cutting the rope, being careful not to remove any potential evidence in the process as he spoke, obviously avoiding eye contact.
“Charlie here used to make porn,” Calvin murmured.
“He what?” Dodge asked.
“How do you…” Tilley started asking, and then decided she really didn’t want to know.
“Well, he used to, anyway,” Calvin stated with a little more confidence in his voice than his previous statement. “He used to post videos to a website I might have heard of; up until about a year ago anyway, more or less.”
“Well now, the late Charlie here is turning into some sort of sex fiend,” Dodge said. “This is gonna be one for the books. I can already see that.”
Lemkie and Calvin positioned themselves on each side of the bed and slowly lifted the silk blanket, exposing what it had hidden up until then.
“Holy torpedo,” Dodge said.
Tilley gasped.
Lemkie muttered something nobody understood.
5
“Well, that was interesting,” Dodge said, lifting the yellow police tape to scoot under it. He held it up as his partner followed.
“Yeah,” Tilley replied. “But I don’t think we’re going to get anywhere with any of the DNA or prints they’re going to collect in there.”
“Well at least we might have a list of potential suspects. This might end up being a process of elimination type of thing,” Dodge replied as he pointed to something away from the crime scene.
Tilley followed her partner’s gaze to a small but neat bungalow. Almost directly across the road sat a little white house with a covered porch and elaborate landscape consisting of many flowerbeds, bushes, and shrubberies.
“We might as well start with them,” Dodge said, clearly meaning the elderly couple sitting on the covered porch.
“That’s Mr. and Mrs. O’Brien,” Tilley said. “He’s a retired pen salesman and she was his secretary, until his wife caught them having an affair. They got married after his divorce was final.”
“Every time I forget, you blurt out someone’s entire life’s history to remind me you’re from Poplar Falls.”
“I don’t know everybody,” Tilley replied defensively. “But Emma and Agatha are friends. That, and the O’Briens babysat me and my sisters when we were little.”
Dodge stuck out a hand to stop a car that had been creeping by while gawking at the crime scene. As they crossed the street, they could see Mrs. O’Brien wave her arm around as she peeked over her glasses at them. She was holding a cordless telephone to her ear with her other hand. She waved again as if she was swatting at pesky flies or something. Mr. O’Brien sat next to her peering through a rather large pair of binoculars. Emma tugged at her husband’s elbow as she watched the detectives approach.
“What?” Bill barked as he lowered his binoculars and squinted to see who approached. He grasped clumsily at the thick glasses hanging on a string around his neck and put them on.
“I gotta go,” Emma said as she pushed buttons on her cordless phone while still talking into it. “I’ll call you back,” she said hastily as she stood and hurried to meet the detectives on the sidewalk leading to the porch of her home.
“Why, it’s Little Miss Silly-Tilley, all grown up,” Bill O’Brien said from the porch where he still sat.
“Roxanne Tilley?” the short little Emma said as she looked up at the young woman. “Oh my heavens!” Emma blurted as she glanced at the badge and gun holster on the young woman’s hip. “That’s right; I heard you were going to the police academy but that was long ago. And I remember you always did want to be a Charlie’s Angel when you were growing up.” Emma took Tilley’s hands in hers and looked her up and down as her face lit up with excitement before she looked over to Dodge. “We used to watch Charlie’s Angels reruns together. Roxanne always wanted to know why there were no black Angels like her.” Emma’s eyes kept darting between Dodge and Tilley as she rambled on. “You know they got a Chinese Angel now. In the movies, you know. No black Angels, but a Chinese one. At least I think she’s Chinese.” Emma smiled before turning to Dodge again. “We watched reruns all the time.”
Detective Tilley felt Emma’s cold hands clutching hers as embarrassment washed over her while ignoring Dodge’s muffled snickering from behind her.
“Would you like some tea and scones?” Bill asked loudly from where he still sat. “Emma, go put on some tea for our guests.”
“They don’t want tea, you idiot,” Emma shouted, while her grip tightened on Tilley’s hands. “They’ve already had frappuccinos from the coffee shop, remember!”
Dodge couldn’t help but be reminded of Betty White, whom he adored, when he looked at Emma. Her curly white hair, glasses, and gentle smile helped mask a feistiness that was clearly apparent when she spoke.
“Is Charlie Dead?” Emma asked as she took on a very serious look. “My friend Myrtle was asking. She wants to be sure so she can post it on the Facebook, you know.”
Dodge stepped closer to Tilley as he spoke. “We were wondering if you or your husband might have seen anything suspicious last night or this morning. Out of the ordinary, perhaps?”
“Oh, there was nothing ordinary about Charlie,” Emma replied with a coy smile.
“Emma!” Bill shouted from the steps, cutting her off.
“Oh, shush up, Bill!” Emma shouted, brow furrowed, which quickly disappeared and was replaced with a wide smile. “Ms. Weatherbee came over wearing a big overcoat in this heat. It’s too hot for a coat liked that. I bet she was naked underneath.”
“Emma!” Bill shouted again.
“She didn’t stay, though. Poor Ms. Weatherbee’s probably sex-starved since her divorce.”
“Emma!” Bill shouted.
“Like a cat in heat,” Emma quipped. “And that Wilkins woman came by, too. She’s that lawyer that teaches aerobics. Drives a white car.”
Tilley knew Wilkins from the gym. She glanced at Dodge and saw he was taking notes and turned to Emma again who still had a hold of her hands. Emma’s eyes were downcast now as she looked to be deep in thought.
“You should talk to Lucy Shaffer, too,” added a pensive Emma. “She’s a professional comedian, you know, from Hollywood.”
“Was she here this morning?” Dodge asked. He knew exactly who Lucy Shaffer was. She had been seen in Poplar Falls and the gossip was that she was a guest of the Magnolia Wellness Centre.
“Oh no, but she was there last week or was that the week before,” said a pensive Emma. “She was at the rehab centre. Booze, you know.”
“Emma!” Bill said sternly.
“I’m just trying to be helpful,” Emma said, smiling, before she took on a more serious look. “Is Charlie dead?”
“Yup,” Bill shouted. “He’s dead all right.”
Dodge looked over at Bill and saw that he was peering across the street through his binoculars. Dodge turned and saw three men clumsily carrying a stretcher down the steps from the second-floor balcony. The body, in a body bag, was strapped to the stretcher.
“The ladies at my knitting group say Charlie had a big one,” Emma stated with a smile. “A very big one.” Emma shrugged and crumpled her nose in a cheeky fashion.
“Emma, for Christ’s sake!” Bill shouted.
“That’s all I can think of. But if you give me your card, like on TV, then I can call you if I think of anything else,” Emma said with a smile as she looked Dodge up and down. She turned to Tilley and winked. “Handsome, isn’t he.”
Dodge handed Emma cards with both the dete
ctives’ information, making her finally let go of Detective Tilley’s hands in the process. Emma smiled as she took the cards, looking them over with fascination.
“I hope I was helpful,” Emma said as she again scanned Dodge and smiled.
“You were more than helpful, ma’am,” Dodge replied.
“Thank you, Emma,” Tilley added as she waved to Bill, who was too busy watching the goings-on across the street to even notice.
As the detectives made their way to the sidewalk, Dodge glanced back to make sure Emma couldn’t hear him. He saw she had sat next to her husband on the porch.
“Is it just me or could you smell it, too?”
Tilley’s reaction was enough to confirm that he had indeed smelled what he thought he’d smelled, and so there was no need to discuss that anymore.
“Charlie’s Angels, huh?” he inquired.
“Shut up!” Tilley blurted.
Dodge glanced back to see Emma waving her hands about again, and this time he saw that she was spraying some sort of deodorant to mask the distinct odour as best as possible.
Bill set down his binoculars when he saw the detectives heading down the sidewalk and dug out a fancy Zippo lighter from his shirt pocket. Emma picked up the half-smoked joint from the wooden armrest between them; the same armrest that was marked with multiple burn marks. Bill took hold of the joint and gave his wife a glare of disapproval, knowing full well she would read into it what he was saying without having to vocalize any of it. He lit the joint, took a drag, and then handed it to Emma. He coughed twice before exhaling.
“You said too much,” Bill told Emma.
“I did not,” Emma replied. “I only told them half of it; less than half.” Emma took a drag from the joint.
“They’ll be back,” Bill replied as he watched them walk toward the neighbour’s house where a small red sports car had pulled into the drive.
“I had to say something,” Emma replied as she scooped up her cordless phone and pushed redial. “Otherwise they’d know we where hiding something.”
6
“This is like something out of a cheesy novel,” Detective Tilley said as they walked up the driveway of the neighbour’s house.
“You think we can believe the O’Brien’s?” Dodge asked.
Detective Tilley gave no response as she gestured for Dodge to look at the older model red corvette, with the word RED on the vanity plate.
Dodge elbowed Tilley and pointed to the For Sale sign on the lawn of the home.
RED Realty Inc. Marci Grant.
The sign had a picture of a beautiful redhead with unbelievably white teeth next to a phone number. Dodge took a picture of the sign with his Blackberry just as the tall, leggy redhead stepped out of the car; high heels exiting first followed by a form-fitting skirt. Her business apparel hugged her body, showing off her figure. Her lipstick, eyeliner, long eyelashes, and outfit clashed with her beaten brown leather driving gloves which looked to be coming apart at the seams. Smiling, she peeled off one of the gloves before walking over with an extended bare hand.
“You must be the Blanchards,” Marci Grant said with a smile. “I didn’t know you were a cop,” she added, clearly looking at the badge on Tilley’s belt.
Tilley shook Marci Grant’s hand as she spoke.
“I’m Detective Roxanne Tilley and this is my partner, Detective Franklin Dodge.”
Marci looked across the street and then at the detectives. “Is that… is that Charlie Baker’s place?” Marci inquired.
“Did you know Charlie?” Dodge asked as he took out a small notepad.
Marci’s gaze lingered on the scene across the street as if she hadn’t heard Dodge. She watched crime scene people come out of the upstairs apartment with containers and place them in a vehicle as the crowd observed. It didn’t look quite as glamorous as they made it look on television, she thought.
“How long have you been sleeping with Charlie Baker?” Tilley asked bluntly, surprising Dodge in the process. Tilley watched Marci closely, trying to pick up on her body language in the process. “Miss Grant, how long?”
“Marci,” the tall redhead replied. “Call me Marci.” She turned her attention back to the detectives. Marci’s eyes roamed all over Detective Tilley’s body as she spoke with a smirk on her face. “Oh, I wasn’t sleeping with Charlie. I was trying to sell him this house.”
“I see,” Tilley replied as she glanced at Dodge uncomfortably.
Dodge fought back a smile as he took notes.
Marci looked down at Tilley’s breasts as she spoke again.
“Big dick or no big dick, Charlie’s just not my type, honey.”
“How long have you known Charlie?” Dodge asked.
Marci locked eyes with Dodge as she replied. “What? The O’Brien’s didn’t tell you that?”
“We’d rather hear it from you,” Dodge replied.
“Charlie called me about four, maybe five weeks ago to ask about this house. I hinted a little, tried to tell him he should look at other houses with less nosy neighbours, but Charlie really liked this one.”
“What time do you expect the owners to be home?” Dodge asked.
“The Turlingtons?” Marci replied. “They moved to Alberta almost four months ago. Took a job up there and hired me to sell their house.”
“So the house has been vacant since?” Dodge asked as he jotted down more notes.
“Yes, Charlie actually called me last night to tell me he wanted to make an official offer on the house, but I already had a showing booked today with the Blanchards.”
“Did he?” Dodge asked. “Make the offer?”
“He told me to come and see him this afternoon after I show it to the Blanchards.” Marci’s gaze went across the street again as she pointed a perfectly manicured fingernail in that direction. “Is…is he?”
“Dead,” Detective Tilley replied as she watched Marci’s body language for a reaction.
“Suicide?” Marci asked. “Can’t be. People who are about to kill themselves don’t make offers on houses.”
“We’re investigating,” Dodge said as he shot Tilley a disapproving glance. She was volunteering too much information instead of letting her talk. It felt like a rookie move but Dodge knew she was usually better than this. It was obvious she wasn’t comfortable, and it was affecting her judgement.
“Well, he obviously didn’t die of natural causes or you wouldn’t be asking questions,” Marci replied with a grin. “Some guy probably caught him with his wife and shot him.”
A large truck pulled into the driveway behind Marci’s Corvette and killed its engine.
“That must be the Blanchards,” Dodge said as he put away his notepad and dug out a business card to give to Marci. “We may need to talk to you again.”
Marci dug through her purse and quickly pulled out a pair of cards of her own. She handed one to Dodge and then smiled when she handed one to Tilley.
“Call me if you need anything,” she said to Detective Tilley. “Call me…anytime.”
Dodge grinned like a schoolboy as they walked away. Tilley ignored the moment of immaturity from her much older partner. Dodge didn’t lose his composure very often, but today seemed to be an exception, thought Tilley as they walked away. She hoped it wasn’t affecting his judgement.
7
Moments later, Marci Grant greeted her potential buyers with her usual big white smile and firm handshake. She turned to see the O’Briens still on their porch, watching things unfold. Marci saw a grinning Emma wave hello to her as she chatted on a cordless phone. Mr. Blanchard gestured towards the O’Brien residence as he spoke.
“You know the neighbours?”
“The O’Briens?” Marci asked. “A little bit. They’re both retired I think,” which was a half lie. With the Blanchards being from out of town, Marci figured she didn’t n
eed to tell them the full truth about the nosy old couple. “They’re very friendly,” Marci added with her trademark smile, flashing her abnormally white teeth.
“What’s going on across the street?” Mrs. Blanchard asked with an expression of concern.
Before Marci could answer the question, a ringtone emanated from her purse, playing a familiar little song.
“Soft Kitty, Warm Kitty…”
Blushing slightly she dug her phone out of her purse, answering quickly, cutting off the song made famous by the popular television sitcom. The only silly ringtone she had in her entire list of contacts. The one set for a specific caller. The name on the display read Trudy Wilkins. She flashed her index finger at the Blanchards with a weak smile, indicating she would just be a moment as she began walking away for a little privacy.
“Sorry, but I have to take this. It’s my lawyer,” Marci said as she answered the call. “Hey.”
“Is this a bad time?” Trudy asked. She could tell it was from the way Marci answered, but she asked out of politeness.
“I’m with clients, yes. But never mind that; you were up awfully early this morning.”
“I couldn’t sleep,” Trudy replied. “I figured I’d head to the gym and let you sleep.”
“Aren’t you the one and only early bird,” Marci said in a knowing tone as she debated how much she should divulge. Should she confess as to how much she knew, she wondered.
“Hey, aren’t you showing the Turlington house today?”
“Yes,” Marci replied, as she thought it odd for Trudy to ask this. Trudy never really cared about the details of Marci’s realtor business. Unless it was a closing she had to process paperwork for, she really didn’t ever want to hear about her meeting strangers and showing houses. “Yes, I’m there now. Why do you ask?”
“Isn’t that across the street from that apartment building?”
“There’s an apartment building across the street. Yes, why?”
“I was just curious. I saw a post on Facebook about something going on there and was curious to know what it was,” Trudy said. “Plus I saw a picture of you talking to a couple. I thought I’d ask. But I can tell it’s a bad time, so we’ll talk later. Sorry to bother you.”
Poplar Falls Page 2