Book Review: When You're The Only Cop In Town

A fascinating book. This literally runs a close second to having an actual ride-along with a small-town police chief. It has the same feel of "here's how it is". Jack Berry had extensive experience as a cop in a larger city, then he took on the job of small-town chief. For a time, he really was the only cop in town. His experiences are a wonderful resource for any writer such as myself who is writing anything that involves small town police work.

Taking The Plunge

     I took the plunge last week. I published two of my short stories separately as books on Kindle. Partly just to get them out there, partly to learn how to do it. It's a bit tricky, but not much. I must say another reason was to ramp up my incentive to finish other work and get it out there too! 

I have a series of novels in the works, set in the small central Texas town of Shin Oak Ridge in the mid 1980's and featuring Deputy Constable Pen Sadler. The above short stories are set in the same area, in the county seat of Copete County, Cedar City, just a few miles from Shin Oak, and in the present day. They feature Parson Short, the only private eye in Cedar City and probably the county. 

It's a soft-boiled private eye series with a bit a fun. Give it a try. I hope you like it and give me a good review. 

You can get "Hanging Chad" here. You can get "The Case of the Other Sister's Mister" here. If you're interested, you can also see my Kindle Author page here.

Thank you!

Review: Tail Gait by Rita Mae Brown

I just finished the upcoming novel Tail Gait, by Rita Mae Brown. It's a very good read if you enjoy a good cozy with paws. This one has Harry and her furry assistants ferreting out a couple of murders connected to the local university and its football team alumni. It has been awhile since I looked at this series of mysteries and I'm glad to see that it continues with vigor. The title comes out from Bantam in May of 2015 and it's worth watching for.

Merry Christmas. Happy Holidays. Happy Yule, etc.

     Up to almost 4K words on the third Parson Short mystery story, "Hanging Chad". Once again Short is drawn into a murder investigation in concert with the county sheriff's office. See how the Cedar City, Texas PI fares when dealing with a web of deceit and corruption.
     Probably close to 6K when finished. Might even make it before Christmas. Have a Merry!

Dark and Stormy Night

(Image from "The Big Combo" 1955)

 

Dark and Stormy Night 

by William Seward

Grimaldi knew when the phone rings at three in the morning it doesn't mean good news. Being on call means you can't turn the pesky thing off. He answered with a gruff "Grimaldi!" The dispatcher told him the address, he slapped some water on his face, dressed  himself again and was out the door. Great, the crappy weather fit his mood.
The address was a duplex. He didn't know the uniform in the driveway. He flashed his badge, grunted "Grimaldi" and was told the way to the scene where he finally saw a familiar face.
Detective Bob Patrick handed Grimaldi a cup of Starbucks best, strictly black, no frou-frou, just the thing to make him verbal again. He got out something that sounded like "thanks" and grabbed a quick swallow of the brew before being shown into the apartment.
Bob introduced him to the victim. "Case MacTavish. Bass player for the house band at the Hot Spot down the street. A few priors, nothing major. His girlfriend found him when she got in from her shift. She works at the Pik n Pay all night grocery, also in the neighborhood. She's Marge Griswold. She said he had a gig tonight, hasn't seen him since this morning. Nobody heard anything. Unit next door is vacant now."
"Stabbed?"
"A lot!" The tech looked up. Another face he knew, Ned Olson. "We'll know when we autopsy for sure, but looks like a dozen times at least."
Grimaldi looked at the bloody knife Bob showed him a in a tagged evidence bag. "Murder weapon?"
"Could be. Hard to say right now. Victim was holding it in his hand."
"Think he got a few licks in?"
The tech looked around, "lot of blood. Could be. We'll run it, see if it's all his."
Bob motioned to the bedroom. "The lady is in there. Ready to get her story?"
Grimaldi took a mental inventory. It seemed like his brain cells and his mouth were firing on as many cylinders as they usually did, good or bad.
"Okay. First, though, think it's her?"
"I'm not sure. I'll let you decide for yourself."

It had been at least an hour since Marge was told to wait in the bedroom with a policewoman. There was a knock on the door, both women sat up a bit. A man entered. Marge had never met him but she knew his face from pictures in the newspaper. Having him in her bedroom didn't increase her desire to know him. The policewoman stayed. Grimaldi sat. Even sitting he was a couple of inches taller than Marge.
"Ms. Griswold, I'm Detective Grimaldi. I'm sorry for your loss."
"Thank you. Case had his faults, but no one deserves this!"
"How long have you known each other?"
"We met at the Hot Spot just after I got back. About a year ago."
"Got back?"
"Afghanistan. Two tours."
"Then you've probably seen some bad stuff too."
"Pretty bad. Worse when it's one you know, like Case."
Bob called Grimaldi to the  next room. He showed him his notebook. "The victim was playing sets at the Hot Spot till midnight. Said he was going home. Ms. Griswold was working checkout at the grocery till two a.m. Called in the 911 at 2:15. Just about enough time to walk home. Tech says best guess now on time of death was around one. Gives her an alibi."
"Maybe. Remember, it's a murder case, everybody lies."
"You're a cynical bastard."
Grimaldi grunted, went back into the bedroom.
"Ms. Griswold. Was MacTavish fighting with anyone recently? Anybody threaten him? Was he worried about anything?"
"Nothing I knew of. I mean, he worked in a bar in a bad part of town. Not a lady's club. But I never saw any trouble."
"Detective Patrick has the rest of your statement. We'll go over it again tomorrow at the station. Do you have anywhere to go tonight?"
"A friend from work. I'll call her."
"It will be a couple of days before you can get back in here. I'll want you to come into the station tomorrow and sign your statement. Officer Maddox here will help you pack."
A voice came from the front room. "Detective, you need to see this!" Grimaldi and both women went to the door.
A long-haired black and white cat strolled in the door carrying a trophy between his teeth. Obviously pleased with himself, he passed the assembled officers and techs and made a chattering noise as he approached Marge. He neatly dropped the prize at her feet, licked himself, and sailed to the top of the nearby refrigerator where he sat like a sphinx.
At Marge's feet was a large, hairy knuckled finger bearing a bulky gold ring.
Grimaldi looked at Marge. "Your cat?"
"Case's, sort of. I think he came with the duplex. We've been calling him Moki."
Grimaldi picked up the finger with a reversed bag and looked at it before zipping it inside. "MacTavish wasn't missing any digits, I guess this answers the question about whether he fought back. Recognize anything?"
Marge was looking thoughtful. She hesitated. "No."
Grimaldi noticed. "I'm not sure I believe you."
"No, it's nothing."
He let it pass for the present. The two detectives finally left. Only part of Marge's attention was on the rest of it; packing her things with Rose's assistance, the trip to Patsy's apartment.
That ring! She knew it!

 Chapter 2

Mort Gomez was in pain. His left pinky was gone and it hurt like nothing he'd ever felt. And his ring! The ring he had taken off the body of his own uncle Carlo after he'd knifed him to death. A family heirloom, that's what it was!
But the pain! The boss had taken him to a veterinarian he used sometimes. The man owed too much to talk to anyone. He'd given Mort some kind of painkillers, for horses, probably, but they didn't work on HIM! The bandaged hand throbbed, forget that he kept bumping it into things when he moved. It was agony!
Who'd a thought that damn bass player, MacTavish had the spunk to grab the knife and put up a fight?
Mort looked out the window. Night was falling in the miserable weather, but it made little difference. The rain hadn't stopped in three days. The damp made his hand hurt even worse, if that was possible.
He heard a car door slam, he stepped behind the front door as it opened. Joey Marbles stepped into the room. The boss bumped the door back abruptly, it bumped Mort's hand. He screamed and fell back into a chair blubbering.
The boss looked at Mort, shaking his head. "I can't believe it. My best enforcer, Mort Gomez. Killer extreme. Crying in a flop house on the ass end of town!"
Mort just shook his head, still moaning.
"C'mon, man up. I have to ask you something."
Mort tried to sit up straight. The boss was the boss.
"The cops are everywhere asking questions. Mostly that detective Grimaldi, I think we've got a handle on him, though. There's someone else, though."
"Who?"
"Do you know this woman?" Joey handed over his cell phone. There was a picture on the screen. "She's asking all around about you."
"No, I don't.... wait. She works at the grocery. The one where I buy my cigarettes. She checked me out a few times."
"Well, she's looking for you now and they say is she's MacTavish's squeeze."
Mort stifled another groan. "What can she know? And what is she planning to do about it?"
"You tell me. Mort. She's your buddy!"
"She's got nothing on me."
"Maybe we need to make sure. We'll do it together."
"I don't know."
"C'mon, you can do it, if you can stop crying long enough."

Mort ate another half bottle of aspirin and got into the car. Joey drove them back to the neighborhood near the grocery. They parked in an alley. It wasn't long, but it seemed forever to the suffering Mort. Finally he recognized Marge passing the alley and he called out to her, stifling a groan.
The two men stood with guns behind their back as she approached, rain cap on her head and hands in her raincoat pockets. Joey thought the woman seemed too relaxed for a dark alley. Finally she was close enough to see their faces in the gloom. To Mort she said, "show me your hands."
Mort raised the bandage. Marge nodded when she saw the white bandage. The men made their move. Three shots rang out, echoing along the walls of the pitch black alley. Joey went down immediately, Mort stumbled forward, grasping at Marge.
When Grimaldi arrived at the scene, he found two victims, one gripping the end of a torn belt in his bandaged hand. A belt only a woman would wear, perhaps on her raincoat.
Three blocks away, Marge tossed her torn coat into a dumpster and entered a thrift shop.
The little red coat in the window was just the thing. The rain is stopping. Tomorrow promised to be a better day.

 

------------------------
An exercise from writing class to incorporate furnished random sentences into a short story.

Printed: 07-Sep-2014, 14:30

Report generated with yWriter5 © 2014 Spacejock Software

Find The Lady!

Find The Lady

By

William Seward

Chapter 1

Parson Short stepped into Carol's Cafe. Not a place known as a den of intrigue, at least lately. He missed the old batwing doors but the air conditioning was a good trade on a hot Texas afternoon. He carried the backpack over to one of the tables, removed the laptop and turned it on so it could be connecting while he ordered his java.

At the counter he asked for his regular black coffee, no fancy stuff. A sweet roll caught his eye. Carol's sweet rolls were sinfully good; large, gooey sweet, and came heated with a generous dollop of real butter. Behind the counter Jean rolled her eyes when he asked for one. She’d gotten to know him too well. He took his coffee and returned to his table to finish setting things up. With the slump in private eye business lately Short had stopped paying for internet at his little one man office. If things didn't look up soon, he'd have to let that office go as well.

Working at the cafe was better anyway. He was well known here. He could camp out at one of the tables for a half a day and use the wifi, read or people-watch. Today his plan was to run updates on his cell phone.

His old cell phone was three upgrades behind, but it did all he usually needed. It wasn't like anyone was calling him these days. Oddly enough they were still issuing updates for the software, even though the techs expressed amazement that it still worked. His sweet roll came while he was getting the process started.

The internet signal was slow today. Short read his email and unobtrusively watched the other customers as he enjoyed his roll and coffee. Sometimes a job lead would come his way if he kept his ears open. There was nothing today, though.

He was distracted when he saw an attractive young woman enter carrying a small box in her hands. He watched as she stood at the counter and looked over the menu. Before she made up her mind a pair of sheriff's deputies entered the cafe and walked toward a corner table. The girl abruptly turned and exited. Jean shrugged and turned to carry the coffee pot and mugs to the two deputies.

Short realized that he still had a fourth of his sweet roll left but his coffee was gone. He waved Jean over with the pot. As Jean filled his cup she suddenly said, “Oh damn!” put down the pot and darted to the door. She quickly returned and said “too late!” She indicated the small box on the counter. “She not only didn't order, she left that behind.” Short got up and looked the package over, it was taped shut and had no markings on the outside.

“Do you know her?”

“Don’t know her name. She comes in sometimes. I think she works in an office, she usually orders a tray of coffees and several scones.” Jean looked around the counter then checked a paper spike. “She brought a list yesterday, here it is.”

Short took the slip of paper. It was a pale blue note, torn from a pad. Part of a letterhead was on the top of the page. It said Otheros United.

“Jean, this is what we call a major clue! Otheros is just outside of town. I was just thinking of going there to see my ex. Want me to drop it off?”

“That would be great, Parson.”

Short handed her his card in case the girl returned. He packed up his laptop and cell phone, nodded at the deputies in the corner and left the shop. The small package was nestled in his coat pocket. There had been no serious prospects for income in his email, and above all, nothing from Amy. However, things were looking up. He had an excuse to see her at Otheros and maybe score a finder’s fee in the process.

As Short drove his '71 Olds Cutlass on the road north of town his phone rang. A glance at the screen told him it was Tupper Rountree, an old client. Short picked up the phone. Tupper said, "Hi, Short. I got a message that you called me."

"I did, a couple of days ago. I was wondering if you could pay me that hundred that you owe me!"

"I wish I could, buddy, but I just don't have it right now."

Short became aware of an intermittent buzzing noise coming from the package in his pocket. He took it out and laid it on the seat. He hoped it wasn't going to explode as he replied to Tupper. "Call me buddy after you've brought your tab up to date."

"I have a check coming in next week, I'll pay you then!"

"I'm counting on it, Tupper."

He hung up. There it went again, the package, buzzzz, buzz. Maybe it was the kids cell phone. But why wrap it up? Should he open it? As he pondered this, Short pulled into the parking lot of Otheros United.

Chapter 2

The company consisted of a cluster of buildings inside of twenty acres of chain-link fence. The administrative office was at the front with an open parking lot, access to the other buildings was through guarded entrances.

Short walked through the entrance. A burly guard near the door glanced at him and looked away. Short had a moment of worry. Amy had started work here since the divorce and he hadn’t visited. Of course there was that whole restraining order thing, but that was all a mistake. Still, it was sort of a letdown that no one recognized him.

The receptionist looked up from her desk. She managed to give the impression she was looking down at him at the same time. “May I help you?”

“I’m here to see….”

Before he could finish a young man walked in from the hallway and laid several file folders on her desk. He passed an appraising look over Short and asked. “Are you the private detective; Mr. …..?

Short was surprised by the question. He almost forgot to answer. “Umm, yeah. Short, Parson Short.”

“I’m Keith. Mr. Atkinson’s assistant. He’s been expecting you. He’s in conference room B, down the hall. I’ll show him the way, Cheryl.”

Short was a bit flustered. Why did the president of the company want to see him? Had something happened to Amy? Or was he really getting the bum's rush after all? He followed Keith down the hall. The door to the conference room was open and a man was inside. Keith made a vague hand motion waving Short through the door and continued on.

Trevor Atkinson was tall and matinee idol handsome. He looked up from the spread out paperwork and pointed at a chair. Short approached him. “Mr. Atkinson, I’m Parson Short. I understand you’re expecting me?”

Atkinson took his hand and shook it firmly. “Yes indeed if you're an investigator Mr. Short, or is it Reverend?”

“Mister is fine, Parson is my name, not my job.”

“Good, then you can get started right away?”

“What is it you need me to do?”

“I’m sorry, I thought your office had filled you in. Something has been stolen from us. Something important. We’re still in a state of a shock, I’m afraid. Industrial espionage is not that common here.”

“Tell me all about it.”

“A piece of experimental hardware was taken in the past few days. We need it back and we need the thief apprehended. That’s why we wish to retain you.”

Short thought of the box in his coat pocket. “How small are we talking, bread box or pack of cigarettes?”

“A pack of cigarettes would fit. You see we developed a new …”

Just then the intercom broke into the conversation. The receptionist said, “Mr. Atkinson. There is another investigator here.”

“Send him in, Cheryl.” Atkinson turned to Short. “Are you expecting an associate?”

Short thought of his empty one-desk office. “Not really.”

Footsteps came down the hall and Ty Bonnet stepped through the door. Seeing Short he spoke abruptly. “Why are you here, Short? Otheros is our account!”

Atkinson turned to Short. “You two aren’t together?”

Ty snorted. “In his dreams.”

Short held up his hands in surrender and smiled. “I think there may have been a mistake. I was talking to the receptionist and I’m afraid your assistant made an assumption…”

“I’m confused. You’re not a private investigator?”

Ty laughed. “That’s what I keep saying!”

Short ignored him. “Yes sir, I am.”

Ty stepped between Short and Atkinson. “Get lost Short. I have this job.”

Short raised his hands again. “No worries. You can have the account. However, I do believe I may have a lead on what you are looking for, small box about so big by so big, purple tape holding it closed” Something told Short not to admit the box was on him. He hoped it wouldn't buzz again.

The other two looked at him. Ty’s face turned red. Atkinson had a thoughtful look on his face. He turned to Ty and said. “I’m afraid we won’t be needing you at this time Mr. Bonnet. I’ll work with Mr. Short on this matter.” Short felt the box vibrate again in his pocket but he covered it by clearing his throat vigorously.

Ty grimaced at Atkinson's remarks. His jaw bunched as he said, “Very well, Mr. Atkinson.” As he turned to leave, a glare at Short promised retribution to come. Short shrugged and turned back to Atkinson.

Atkinson sat behind the table, getting comfortable. He steepled his hands in front of his face and spoke. "So, Short, do you have the item? Where is it?"

"I can put my hands on it. It's in a very safe place for now."

"And the thief?"

"I don't know yet, but I'll find her…or him. Especially if I can use the box as bait."

"It better work!" Atkinson pulled out his checkbook. "Will a thousand do for a retainer?"

Short's heart thudded and re-started itself. "Sounds reasonable."

"You have twenty four hours."

"That may not be enough!"

"It will have to be. There are deadlines involved. Bring the box to me within twenty-four hours with or without the thief."

Atkinson keyed the intercom, "Cheryl, Mr. Short is leaving. See him out please."

Short was a mile down the road before he realized he had forgotten to ask for Amy. He'd be returning in twenty-four hours, he supposed that would be soon enough. He had felt the box vibrate a couple of times during his interview with Atkinson. If it was a cell phone, the battery would be running out at this rate. He called Jean at the cafe but no one had come looking.

Short decided to stop off at the Max’s Hula Hut for dinner on the way home. Some gluten-free burritos and kolaches would balance out his sweet roll for lunch, he figured.

Chapter 3

Jay Leno was in rare form as Short finished off the last of the Goo Goo Cluster ice cream. The studio audience was laughing at a joke about the President when there was a knock on Short's door. He muted the show and opened the door. Amy was standing on his front step. Shocked, he backed up and let her in. She kissed him lightly on the lips. "Mmm, Goo Goo Cluster! How are you doing?"

"Pretty good."

"How's the private eye business?"

"Oh, you know, slow. You look fantastic!"

"Why thank you kind sir! You know, Cheryl told me you came by the office this afternoon, and why."

"I doubt that, I actually came to see you."

"Oh, I thought that was probably it, but you spoke to Atkinson instead. He hired you to retrieve something."

"Cheryl talks a lot."

Amy put her hand on his chest. "You know, if you give it to me, I'll see that Atkinson gets it. It would do a lot for my career. I'd really appreciate it!"

Short had trouble swallowing for a moment. In spite of everything, Amy still had that effect on him. "It isn't here. Besides, I can't, I need it to catch the thief. You shouldn’t tempt me, besides, what about that restraining order thing?"

"Is it…tempting? The restraining order is nothing. Just something the girls said I should do. You'd never hurt me. Would you?"

"Of course not."

Short's coat was on the dining room chair, he watched as she idly ran her hands over it, as if she were caressing a puppy. He sighed as he remembered her talented hands. They were so talented he’d stopped leaving his wallet in his coat or pants after the second month they were married.

"You're a sweet guy. Are you sure you won't give it to me? You know I can make it worth your while."

"Like I said, it's not here. And I've made other plans for it."

"You're loss, tiger. I’ll just leave you alone to think about it. When you come to your senses you know where to reach me. Any time, just whistle!"

He followed her out, making sure she left, then breathed a sigh of relief. The part of him that had been missing her wasn't the same part that remembered how utterly mercenary she was. Fortunately he had hidden the box in a safe place. The box had vibrated several more times while he was watching television and he'd grown tired of it. Besides, he wasn’t too sure what Atkinson might do. He'd finally put it inside the back of his old radio, a 1932 Silvertone floor model that he'd always intended to restore. People these days tended to forget how much empty space was in one of those old electronics cabinets. Short often used it as a place to stash things. When he’d first gotten it there had been an old bottle of nitro glycerin stashed in it. That was another story.

However, Short was really getting curious about what was in that box. Some mysteries were more solvable than others.

Short overslept the next morning. As he was enjoying his coffee and donut for breakfast his phone rang. Jean was calling from the cafe. "That girl came by for the box. I was giving her your card when her friend showed up. The friend said she knows you. They're on their way."

"Thanks."

Short had only just hung up the phone when he heard the car on the gravel outside. When he opened the door he recognized the young woman from the cafe. She looked at him nervously. Strangely, or maybe not, she was accompanied by Amy. He ushered them both into the kitchen.

Amy said brightly, "Surprise!"

"I'm not sure anything could surprise me anymore."

"This is Justine Atkinson."

"Oh really? Any relation?"

Justine spoke, "Trevor's my uncle. Amy said that you have my box."

"Your box, huh? Did she tell you why I was holding on to it?"

"Yes, but we were hoping to convince you otherwise."

"So tell me."

Amy put her hand on Justine's arm. It was almost painful to see how Justine looked at her.

"Let me tell him."

Justine nodded jerkily at her. She turned to Short.

"A programmer in Kansas developed a smart phone app called "Pinocchio". It's pretty ingenious. He wanted it to be free to the public, but Otheros stepped in. They bought it outright. The programmer then had a "fatal accident". Otheros, specifically Trevor Atkinson, felt that they could make a lot of money by charging money to suppress the app."

"And Pinocchio is,,,"

Justine spoke, "It's a handheld lie detector. On a phone."

Amy nodded. "In the box is a smart phone. What they call a "jailbreak" model. It can be made to work with any cell provider. But that's not the important part. On the phone is the only existing copy of the Pinocchio app. A courier dropped it off, no one has even had a chance to open it yet."

Short thought for a moment, "so, people of means who don't care to be caught lying…."

Justine smiled nervously, "most politicians, salesmen, televangelists, …"

Amy laughed, "heck, plenty of spouses. There are any number of people who would pay to avoid being caught in a lie."

Short started to reply to that but let it go.

Justine rubbed her temples. "That was Uncle Trevor's plan. To see how many people he could find who would pay to have it destroyed. That's why I took it. It just seemed really wrong. Amy helped me, but basically I just walked out with it a couple of days ago. I was taking it to show a TV journalist when I lost it."

Amy playfully swatted her on the hand, "you left it in the cafe, you mean!"

"There were deputies, I thought they were following me."

Short thought for a moment. "How does it work?"

"Only the developer really knew. However, when it's running on the phone no one can tell. You can program it to use a ring tone or vibrate if you want. You set it so that you won't confuse it for a call or a text message and you're the only one who will know. In demo mode it vibrates a long and a short signal, like "buzzzzzzzzz—-buzz." Just another text message if anyone hears it, but only you know the truth."

Amy said, "Literally!"

Short made a decision, he went to the other room and retrieved the box. He returned with it to the kitchen.

Both Amy and Justine reached for it eagerly, Short held on to it for a moment.

"I sympathize with what you want to do, but I have a dilemma."

The other two looked at him, puzzled.

"I do have a commitment to return the device, along with the thief. And, Atkinson knows that I have it."

Justine looked at Amy, then spoke hesitatingly. "I'll be in trouble, but I can't believe Uncle Trevor will press charges. I’ve been feeling bad about it anyway."

Amy said, "I think you’re being silly. I think I have an idea about the phone though. Can I have it?"

Short reluctantly handed over the box. Amy took it and carefully began to peel off the tape.

"What are you doing?"

"You'll see." She removed the tape easily enough, opened the box and removed the phone. She glanced at it and dropped it into her purse. Then she pulled out another cell and put it into the box. "This one is clean. I took it from a recycling center." Then, she re-taped the box and dropped it onto the floor, pulled a skillet off the rack and whacked it hard three times. The box was crushed, with the new phone inside. Amy laughed, “There now, it was accidentally dropped and run over by a car!”

Justine turned white as a ghost, "What have you done?"

"Think about it, honey. As far as they know the phone is destroyed like it was going to be anyway. If Short takes you to Trevor with it, what are they going to do about it? Meanwhile, I'll take the phone to the press and after a few days the story will be out! Atkinson's contributors will be pissed, but what can they do? I'll give you the credit; you'll be a hero! Trust me!"

Before anyone else could move, Amy picked up her purse and bustled out the door leaving a quick peck on each of their cheeks. Short let her go.

Justine shook her head, "what just happened?"

"We've been Amy’d. No doubt she plans to pull the same scam Atkinson was going to. Within an hour she'll be contacting congressmen, and so on."

"She wouldn't do that, she said she's going to the press."

“Are you two, umm, a couple?”

Justine looked down, then shook her head. “Amy’s been very sweet to me.”

"You don't know her like I do, kid. I doubt either of us will see her again.”

“How could you let her do it then?”

“Experience, she’s sort of a force of nature. Forget it, let's call your uncle and see if we can convince him."

As he dialed the phone Short sighed. He really wasn't surprised. It was probably better this way.

Chapter 4

Short entered Otheros United with Justine in tow. Cheryl was not at the reception desk. The uniformed security guard met them. His nameplate said "Bruno".

Short raised an eyebrow. "Bruno? Really?"

Bruno shrugged and led them down an empty hallway to another conference room. Ty Bonnet was inside. Bruno entered with them, closed the door and put his back against it.

Ty spoke first, "Where's the box?"

Short and Justine spoke at the same time, "Where's Atkinson?" "Where's Uncle Trevor?"

"He called a company meeting in the cafeteria. He didn't want anyone to know you were involved. I repeat, where's the box?"

Short pulled a plastic bag with the crushed box from his pocket and laid it on the table. Mangled and disintegrated plastic and electronics were visible through the tears in the cardboard. Ty poked at it a bit then carefully placed it into a drawer.

"That's unfortunate, Short. Still, it was likely going to be destroyed anyway. You've failed all around, it seems. The device is gone and you failed to bring in the thief!"

Justine spoke, "That’s not true! He brought me in, I'm the thief!"

"Nonsense, Miss Atkinson. You just showed poor judgment."

Short stepped forward. "Stop the runaround. My arrangement was with Atkinson. I insist that we see him."

Ty smiled a shark's smile. "You're not in any position to make demands, Short. In fact, Mr. Atkinson may see fit to charge you with stealing the device and kidnapping poor Justine here!"

Justine started to interrupt but Short grabbed her arm. "You'll never make that stick."

"I guess it all depends on who has the most expensive lawyer. Even now I'm watching as you physically threaten her. Guard, restrain Mr. Short!"

Bruno stepped forward. Short stepped back, his hands up. "It's okay, Bruno. I'll go peaceably." He turned back to Ty. “Nothing had better happen to the girl.”

“It won’t. She’s a valuable family member. Now, escort Mr. Short from the premises, guard. His services are no longer required!”

Bruno stood to one side and indicated the door.

Ty had to have another last word. “By the way, Short; Mr. Atkinson stopped payment on the check!"

The guard held the door as Short walked through. The hall was still empty of life as Bruno walked him to the exit and ushered him out.

Short turned and saluted. "See you soon Bruno, it's been a pleasure!" Bruno merely shook his head and took his station beside the door as Short crossed the parking lot, his new cell phone vibrating in his pocket. One long buzz, one short.

02-Mar-2014

The Azure Shade of the Bluebottle Tree - Chapter Four

Chapter Four

The Sheriff hadn't liked it a bit that Pen was looking into Charlie's death. He liked it even less that Pen was looking at Dub Holt's murder as well. He tried to say the two weren't connected, but he couldn't even sell that idea to himself. They'd managed to find the bullet that killed Charlie. It had gone straight through, back to front. It had been found in a cedar fence post across the road. Ballistics revealed another .222 caliber slug, no rifling. What had seemed pretty likely now seemed definite. Bits of some sort of plastic had also been found in Charlie's wound.

Red threatened bodily harm if Pen didn't share everything he found out. He then assigned Elena Delgado to be Pen's liason with the department. Pen was surprised. He would have expected to be saddled with someone like Bud. He tried hard not to show his elation. 

Since Pen was part of the investigation now, he could go back and make his "official" survey of the crime scenes with Elena. They walked the Dub Holt scene first. They spiraled out from the bottle tree, foot by foot without finding anything till they reached a point roughly halfway to the stock tank dam. Pen hadn't told Elena what he suspected, but she was the one who found it. She waved him over, and Pen looked down. A white plastic cylinder, opened a bit on one end like a flower. Elena pushed it into an evidence bag with her pen.

"A sabot. Looks like .30 caliber, there's our rifling, the other end looks like it could fit a .222 slug."

"Well, that explains it. How many .30 calibers of different kinds are there around here?"

Elena looked thoughtful. "Probably a bolt action with a clip feed, though. Not a Winchester 30-30, for instance."

"Yeah. it wouldn't feed through a tubular magazine. Definitely a clip."

"30-06 or .308 maybe."

"Maybe. We'll see what the lab says."

Sometimes varmint hunters will use a sabot load to shoot a smaller caliber slug in a larger rifle. It was a way to use one rifle for both large and small game and retain reasonable accuracy. It also meant that, for evidence purposes, there were no rifling marks on the bullet. An added complication for a jury to consider. At least now they had the plastic sabot to help.

Now that the general direction of the shot was established, Pen and Elena continued their search toward the dam.

Closer inspection of the top of the dam revealed two circular depressions where the shooter's elbows may have rested and some scuff marks a short distance away. Pen carefully assumed a prone position near the marks. The shooter would have been close to Pen's height, six feet tall.

There was nothing else at the dam. They drove over to County Road 210.

     Pen pulled over on the shoulder of  210 where he'd parked before. Elena parked behind him. They walked to the spot Charlie's body had been found and stopped. Neither felt a need to break the silence as they stood and looked around.

It was Pen who finally spoke.

"What was he doing here on foot?"

"Nobody seems to know. No driveways anywhere close. His car is still at his house."

They could see the tag a deputy had put on the fence post where the slug was found. They turned and looked in the other direction. The line made by the fence post and the body's position continued to a grove of oak and cedar just over the fence about fifty yards beyond. Elena said, "they found a spot by that oak where the shooter probably stood."

"Pretty good shot in the dark. Low light scope, maybe. No moon last night, clear, starlight."

Elena thought a moment. "And the white road gravel behind Charlie, too. That would help."

Pen looked at his notebook. "Preliminary report from the coroner shows restraint marks on Charlie's wrists. Somebody had him tied up somewhere. A few bruises too. Maybe he was beaten, maybe bruised while escaping."

"Who'd do that to Charlie Adams? And why?"

Pen put his notebook away. "That's what we have to find out. It is no coincidence that two officers of First Fidelity State Bank would be shot by a similar weapon and just a few days apart."

El checked her watch. "The bank is closed by now if it wasn't already."

"Tandy McAlister is the senior vice-president there now. We'll see when we can talk to him. I think we've done all we can today."

When they returned to their units the seats were already blistering hot. They started the engines and waited for the interiors to become bearable again. Elena returned to the sheriff's office and Pen continued to town.

    Pen thought about the bank as he followed County Road 210 through Shin Oak. The streets were quiet, not much activity except for the guys on the spit 'n whittle bench by the domino parlor. He drove on to State Highway 411. First Federal State Bank was located on the north side of the intersection. From the highway he could see the large black wreath fluttering on the door. He drove into the tastefully landscaped parking lot and saw Patricia Belmont's blue Mustang convertible parked next to Morgan Culver's red Porsche. The two women were standing by the cars and finished their conversation as he stepped out of the car.

Patricia had obviously been crying. "This is so awful, Pen. How's Sara Beth holding up?"

"She's  holding up pretty well. I haven't heard from her this afternoon."

Patricia Belmont was a puzzle. She'd been Parr Culver's first wife. She'd been secretary to Principal Ted Stokely at the high school five years ago when they had both been fired from the school district for mishandling funds. She and Parr had gotten divorced about the same time. Patricia had taken back her maiden name and somehow had gotten a responsible position at First Federal.

Morgan Culver was married to Parr's cousin, Bobby Lee. She was a good ten years older than her husband, and the subject of more than her share of talk. Her straightforward attitude had won many supporters, including Pen. He wondered what the two had been talking about. Other than the family connection they didn't seem to have much in common. He let it pass, though, that wasn't why he was here. He turned to Patricia.

"Is Tandy around?"

Patricia looked at the bank, then back to Pen as she wiped her eyes and got into her car. "No, the bank was closed today because of Charlie. I just came in to do some paperwork. Tandy came by for a few minutes earlier, though. You could probably catch him at home."

"Will the bank be open tomorrow?"

"I'm sure it will. I'm sure we'll close for the funeral. Any word when it will be?"

"I haven't heard anything. I'm sure Jo Ellen will put up the notice at the post office when it's set."

Patricia lifted her left hand in goodby as she drove away. Morgan had stood by quietly as they were talking.

"You two never went out, did you?"

"We never really hit it off. Why?"

"I don't know. You're both single, close in age." Morgan laughed. "That seems to matter a lot in Shin Oak."

"Age isn't everything, Morgan. I think I've heard you say that a few times."

She chuckled again. She was a lovely, intelligent woman, and one of Pen's best friends.

"Will we see you at the ritual, Morgan?"

"I wouldn't miss it. Steve coming?"

Since my brother Sam had died twelve years ago I'd been keeping a close relationship with my nephew Steve. He was now sixteen and thinking about driving and girls. He'd always liked coming to the pagan circle and often volunteered to handle some of the supporting functions.

"Sure. He'll be tending fire, if we have one!"

Morgan smiled. "We'll see you then."

     The ritual was a bit subdued. Lammas is one of the eight traditional sabbats but it is sometimes skipped, at least in Central Texas. Seasonally, it was a bit out of place. Back in Celtic times and places, the first of August was indeed a time for harvest of grains and all that, but here in Texas it was just darn hot. Sometimes the festivals that were designed for places with one growing season were an odd fit for a place with two, or sometimes three. It's also a "fire" festival. There was no fire this time, for the sake of the temperature and the county-wide fire ban that was in its sixty-third day.

Pen thought it was wishful thinking to celebrate the "end" of summer when they wouldn't be seeing cooler days for several months. He looked forward to the Fall equinox, Mabon, and then October's Samhain, the witch's new year, and the really kick-ass ritual. That aside, Owl and Lisa Garrison had done a great job on Lammas. Owl was the name Oso's wife Teresa used for magickal work. Some pagans used their own names, as Pen and Lisa Garrison did. Others chose names that suited them or represented a totem animal or interest.

As always the fellowship after the ritual was fun. Sharing bread, fruit, and wine with the others was always a treat. Pen looked around at this, his community of friends, his family of choice. Lisa was there, and Elena. Oso and Owl brought kolaches. Esme had brought pan dulce. Morgan's ice-cold sangria was fruity and refreshing.

It was a good turn out considering the heat. For the past several years the circle had met here on Lisa Garrison's property. She had a perfect oak grove, open in the center, shady with a good breeze even now. A spring fed creek ran nearby with a small pool to cool off in. The circle took turns keeping it neat for meetings. It was one of Pen's favorite places. There were a couple of permanent altars near, one to Diana, another to Green Man.

Even better, there was a view of Cedar Knob. On a moonlit night it was a magical sight. The hill loomed in the distance, the highest feature around, the top flattened as if a mesa had been transplanted from Anasazi country. Something about it made the viewer feel adrift in space and time.

For ritual purposes the sight was almost as mystical as Stonehenge.

As things wound down, everyone hugged, kissed, and made their various ways home. Pen and his nephew Steve helped Owl and Lisa clean up the last few things and they started home themselves. Pen dropped Steve off at the house Steve shared with his mom, Renee. Steve barely remembered his dad. Pen's brother Sam had died when Steve was four. He was now sixteen and growing up fast. Renee had been living with Darnell Culver for several years now. Steve never talked about him. Pen was uncomfortable about Darnell. He really had no good reason for it.

Now Steve took Pen around and showed him Sam's old '55 Chevy BelAir he was restoring. The work was coming along. It even looked as if the car might be finished by the time Steve got his driver's license.

Pen admired the car and left for home. He didn't see Renee or Darnell around.

Steve was a cool kid and it was great sharing the ritual, but Pen felt a bit down going home alone after dropping him off. It would have been good to have someone to come home with. Esme had been in one of her distant moods, friendly, but not encouraging. Pen sorely felt the lack of a loving partner.

Nothing seemed amiss on the back roads from Renee's place. Pen reached his yard, fed Mau and Odin and unloaded the truck. He thought about the ritual and the conversations. No one had much to say about Dub Holt or Charlie. The murders were still too close in time.

The classical radio station was playing Albinoni's Adagio for strings. A favorite, but a bit blue, Pen turned it off and popped "Hondo" into the VHS. Bed claimed him before the credits rolled.

The Azure Shade of the Bluebottle Tree : Chapter Three

Chapter 3

  County road 210 lay dark in the summer night. The cedar brakes on both sides buzzed with the night song of millions of unseen creatures, mostly insects. An armadillo rustled in the dry grass as a fox scurried across the road and under a fence.

  The man ran down the shoulder, looking for cover, there was none. The roadway was out of the question, the headlights would pin him like a bug on a specimen board. Both sides of the road were lined with ten foot high game fence. The right of way had been mowed fairly recently.  In the light from the stars and Shin Oak in the distance, he could see no culverts, no cover of any kind. He was confined to the roadside in a white t-shirt and blue jeans, and the car would round the corner soon. His skin was at least darker than his t-shirt, he started to yank it off, then he noticed that he was on the inside of a curve. In the dim light only one thing stood out between the dark pavement and the darker weeds, the white  gravel shoulder. He threw himself face down at the roadside, adjusted his position, and hoped. 
   He was barely in time, the dark pickup rounded the curve just as he settled. As it turned, the headlights passed over the outside of the curve, missing him. The truck slowly passed, he could swear he could feel eyes sweeping by him. It seemed to take hours, but was surely only seconds before the pickup passed and continued on.

   He held still for another minute, body aching. He listened for other traffic, or footsteps. None came. He slowly raised his head, looking around, nothing in sight. 
   It was hard to believe it had worked. Forty-odd years before in summer camp he had pulled the same trick during a night game of capture-the-flag. 
   Then as now he was beside a highway, trapped by the opposing team, most of his own team captured. In desperation he had lain down on the roadside, keeping his dark jeans on the grass, his light shirt and skin on the white gravel. They had overlooked him, walked right by. 
   The game was lost, but no one had captured him.  He had lain on the rocks and grass for half an hour, then crept up on the campfire by the old bridge. After lobbing a large rock into the creek to distract them, he’d appeared in the midst of the group, a soda in his hand. No one knew where he came from.

   No fire ants back then, he mused, as he rubbed a couple of stings. He continued to trot along the road, listening for other searchers. Back then the goal was a ragged neckerchief and bragging rights, tonight the stakes were a little higher. 
   He needed a place to hide but a better bet was town, lights, and people. The high bluff over the San Martin river was just ahead, there would be cedars to hide in, and  a good view of the road into town and nearby farms. 
   As he trotted down the shoulder of the road, he didn’t see the shadow detach itself from the tree line behind. Something slammed into his back and he felt himself fall, then blackness.

* * *

   Pen was dreaming about dogs barking. The noise somehow became a ringing phone. Five a.m., Elena was calling.

"Wake up! There's been another shooting." 

   It took a moment for his mouth to work, along with his brain, at least he hoped it was working.

   "Where? Who?"

   "210, West of the river. Out near the old Smiley place. Pen, it's Charlie, Charlie Adams".

   Pen groaned, this was bad. Sara Beth was going to be crushed. Elena was waiting for his response. Instead Pen asked "Has Sarah Beth been called?"

   "I just called her, she told me to get you out here too. I was going to call you anyway."

   "Give me ten minutes!"

   Pen had fallen asleep in his chair, fully dressed. Bast had been sleeping above his head, but he had jumped down when Pen answered the phone.  It only took a moment to splash water on his face, throw on his gunbelt and jump in his truck.

   Sara Beth Adams was Precinct 3 Justice of the Peace. The Precinct 3 Contable and his deputies were, among other things, officers of her court. She was sweet, sharp, and easy to underestimate. The woman was tough, and she had plenty of friends in  the state capitol from her time there. She was also tight with all the Copete County Commissioners. When she chose to do so she had all the influence she needed to get things done her way. She rarely pushed things. Pen had an idea she would decide to push things now.

   Charlie Adams was Sarah Beth's brother-in-law. Her husband, Clyde, was killed in Vietnam. Clyde's two brothers, Gaylord and Charlie, had taken Sarah Beth under their wings ever since. Now Gaylord, or "Chick", was on the Shinoak Ridge City Council, Sarah Beth was JP, and Charlie was loan officer at First Fidelity.

   Sara Beth was going to be all over Sheriff Red Tucker, and everyone else, until Charlie's killer was found.

* * *

   County road 210 hadn't seen this much traffic in ages. Emergency vehicles clustered in one spot like buzzards on fresh road kill. Pen wished he hadn't thought of that comparison. The cars' spot lights were converging on the body on the ground. The flashers lit up the surrounding trees. Volunteer firemen were directing what little traffic there was. It was almost dawn. There was a big turn out from the sheriff's office. Sheriff Tucker himself had shown up. A shaken and tearful Sara Beth was talking to him. Buster saw Pen and tried to keep him away from the scene but Sara Beth's voice cut through the background noise.

   "I want Deputy Constable Sadler over here with me."

Buster and Red both tried to object, but Sara Beth wouldn't have it. She was obviously hurting, but she was determined.

   Buster looked apoplectic. Red tried again.

   "Sara Beth, there's no need. We have plenty of hands on this now. I don't want..."

   Sara Beth raised one hand and Red stopped in mid bluster. "You will keep my office informed and Deputy Sadler will join the investigation."

   Red glared at her, then walked away shaking his head as Pen walked up to Sara Beth.

   "I'm sorry about Charlie, Sara Beth. He was a good guy."

   Sara Beth gripped his arm hard. Pen could see she was close to breaking down. She still might if she met his eyes. She supported herself on his arm for a minute, then cleared her throat.

   "Looks like he was shot in the back, Pen, but I saw some bruises too. I think maybe he was beaten. We'll get the DPS lab to look him over."

   "We're going to get whoever did this, Sara Beth."

   "It was bad enough with Dub Holt getting killed. I want you on this, Pen, now."

   "Red and Buster..."

   "Red and Buster can't find their asses with both hands. They make the Three Stooges look like geniuses. I need you working on this. You know everybody and you know what you're doing. I'm not going to let them keep you out of it."

   Pen looked over at the Sheriff. He was looking sour. Behind him, Elena was giving him a discreet thumbs up. Red almost caught her at it, she scratched her nose and turned away.

   The EMT's were ready to move Charlie. Sara Beth asked them to hold off till Pen took a look around. He didn't push his luck with Red, he looked at positions and angles and told Sara Beth to go ahead. She formally declared Charlie dead, with only a little quaver in her voice, and they took him away. Pen knew he could get everything from Elena and the DPS even if Red tried to shut him out. 

   Pen drove Sara Beth home. She objected but she didn't mean it. Pen could tell she was badly shaken. She and Charlie went way back.

   "Do you want to call someone? A friend? Your pastor?"

   "I will. Oh God! I have to tell Chick his brother's..."

   "I'll do it. But, he probably already knows by now."

   "They were really close, they were the three musketeers growing up."

   They pulled up in the well kept yard Sara Beth's house. It had originally been a mail order Victorian style kit house back in the early nineteen hundreds. It was still in good shape and freshly painted. Pen walked Sara Beth to the door. Her friend, Mae Insall, was already there. Sara Beth held on to Pen for a minute, leaning on his shoulder. Then she straightened and went inside with Mae. Pen had never seen her look so lost.

   He headed back home and took care of Bast and Odin. It was nearly sunrise, so Pen just showered, dressed again, and went to Oso's for breakfast.

   Oso's Hula Hut was on the highway that bypassed old town. Oso is Spanish for Bear. It fit Max Lesak well. Max was an old biker with an appreciation of food and it showed. He wore Hawaiian shirts so he didn't have to tuck them in. Max's wife, Teresa, was a darn good cook who insisted on cooking healthy. The Hula Hut served an odd mix of Czech and Mexican food customized by Teresa to be yummy but low fat. Somehow Max's belly was holding it's own, but he was looking healthier somehow.

   This morning, coffee and gluten-free kolaches sounded like just the thing.

  The morning coffee crowd had already heard about Charlie. Everyone seemed equally shocked by the news. Pen took the time to eat, savoring the food and the familiar talk around him for a bit before he pulled up his belt, paid his tab, and went to the car to report in.

* * *

   The constable offices for Copete County Precinct 3 were located in one end of the precinct equipment barns near Blue Hole, 8 miles from Shin Oak. Karen Toomey was the office manager and dispatcher of sorts. She was pretty broken up at the news of Charlie's murder. Karen worked for Sara Beth also and knew the whole family well.

   "Who'd ever want to hurt Charlie?" she asked around the tissues Pen had handed her. She'd always worn a lot of mascara, but she'd cried it all off.

   "I don't know, but I'll do my best to find out. You've known the whole family a long time. Have you ever heard of any trouble he might have had with anyone?"

"No, nothing. I thought he got along with everyone. I wonder if it had something to do with the bank. I mean after Dub getting killed too..."

   "Sara Beth wants me to work on it, the sheriff isn't going to be happy about it."

   That got him a half smile.

   "Red? Happy about that? He'll be as mad as a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs! He won't like that one little bit!"

   "Well, he heard it directly from her at the scene this morning."

   "Good for her, she'll make it stick, too! Where will you start?"

   "I need to talk to Stan. Is he around?"

   "Sara Beth called him to come over first thing. He should be back soon."

   "Let me know when he gets here, okay?"

   "Of course, where will you be?"

   Pen looked toward his desk and sighed.

   "Karen, my love, we'll always have paperwork."

   Karen mopped her eyes.

   "Ain't that the truth?"

   Pen stuck his head in Esau Culver's office to say hello. There were four Culver brothers in that generation. Jacob, Joseph, Ben and Esau. The Culver family went way back in this part of the county, Pen wasn't too fond of some of them. However, Esau was a good guy. He'd been Precinct 3 County Commisioner for nearly fifty years. Pen couldn't remember when anyone had even run against him. Esau made sure the roads around the precinct were well maintained, and you often saw him driving the grader. He made sure the road to his ranch was taken care of as well, but only after the rest of them were done. In most precincts it was a common joke that the commissioner's own road was always the best kept in the precinct, not so in Precinct 3.

   Esau was sincere in his regrets about Charlie and Dub. They talked a little about it. Like Karen, he couldn't imagine anyone hurting either of them. He only had one suggestion.

   "Well, after all, they were both bankers. Dub and Charlie were both good guys, pillars of the community and all that. Folks tend to view bankers with suspicion. They have ever since the Great Depression. It all got stirred up again recently with the savings and loan scandals, and now all the foreclosures going on. Maybe that had something to do with it, but I never heard of anything in particular."

   Pen agreed with Esau. The bank was a starting point, that was all.

   The window unit in Esau's office was on the blink. He told Karen to call the repairman again and he left to check on the road crews. Pen couldn't blame him. At least in Esau's car the a/c was working.

   Pen continued on to his desk.

  Pen had worked through at least half of his inbox when Stan returned. Stan Hart was fifty years old, he'd been the constable for Precinct 3 for more than half of his life. Like Esau Culver, Stan had been re-elected every term over the years. He and Pen had become friends when Pen was with the sheriff's department. After Red Tucker had taken over, Stan took Sara Beth's advice and offered Pen the deputy position. The pay wasn't as good, but they both knew it wasn't about that. Pen was still able to do what he liked best, and doing it where he wanted to be.

   Stan came straight over to Pen's desk.

   "I just left Sara Beth."

   "How's she doing?"

   "Still pretty torn up. She told me about Charlie, and that she wanted you to work on it."

   "And?"

   "I agreed with her. You're a better investigator than anyone Red has now. He was an idiot to dump you!"

   "Go ahead, tell me how you really feel!"

   Stan grinned at Pen, clapped his shoulder.

   "Go on, run with it. Who knows, maybe Red will solve it just to get rid of you!"

   Good enough, Pen thought.