Teddy Tumpin (An Ollie Stratford Cozy Mystery Book 5) Read online

  That surprised me. The premiums on my existing policy were already past due. A sour feeling flooded my stomach as I admitted to myself that with unpaid premiums I'd have to take the financial hit. But it would be a knockout blow. Perspiration formed on my forehead, and my hands were cold and clammy.

  "File a claim with my insurance company," I said.

  "Ha ha," said Mr. Maxwell in an excited voice. "Yep, me too, but don't you find the premiums a little expensive?"

  I had to agree with him. "Very expensive."

  Mr. Maxwell's voice appeared to grow in confidence with my words. "Listen, as a side hustle I'm working as an insurance agent. Whatever premiums you are paying now, I can half it. That's an absolute guarantee. Ollie, what coverage do you have and what premiums are you paying?"

  I told him.

  He laughed. "That's way too much. Ollie, I can reduce that number by seventy percent without drawing a breath."

  I pressed the cell phone hard against my ear. "Yes, go on," I said with an eager voice pulling up my financial spreadsheet.

  Mr. Maxwell ran through several coverage options, all considerably cheaper than my Havis County Insurance Company policy.

  "There's a ten percent saving if you pay the premiums in full today."

  "Sign me up," I said.

  "Great, now let's see…" There was hesitation in Mr. Maxwell's voice. "Ollie, you're my first sale, got to get used to this computer system."

  Twenty-five minutes later the transaction was complete.

  "Ollie, you are fully covered now. Look out for the policy documents in the mail. If you need to claim in the meantime, call me directly," he said.

  Chapter 30

  At eleven a.m. the clock high on the mantel chimed the top of the hour. I got up and stretched. After one final downward-facing dog I rolled over into dead man's pose, relaxing my entire body onto the floor with my eyes closed and my mind focused on Gratia Violeta.

  Once a week I visit Gratia's hair salon to pick up pet supplies donated by her customers. I drop them off at the Medlin Creek Animal Shelter on my weekly visit to Augustine Granger who runs the place. The drive across town took less than fifteen minutes and for once I found a parking space in front of Gratia's store.

  Inside, the pleasant aroma of mint, eucalyptus, and citrus mingled with more pungent odors of chemicals, hairdryers, and priming agents. The teenage girl at the reception desk didn't look up as I walked in. Her head was down and she was reading something.

  "Is Gratia in the main salon?" I asked.

  She glanced up. I recognized her as a student in one of my classes.

  "Howdy, Doctor Stratford," she said with a smile. "I'm working on one of your assignments. Go straight through. Gratia is in the main salon."

  I strolled through the waiting area with its comfortable couches and coffee table piled with fashion magazines. The salon chairs were empty and there were no clients. Gratia's two assistants stood chatting quietly by the large plate-glass window that overlooked Creek Street. Gratia sat at the other end peering into the latest edition of Better Homes & Gardens magazine. She glanced up and waved me over.

  "Ollie, my customers have been very generous this week," she said, pointing to two large boxes filled with an assortment of packages. "And Mr. Burlington from Gregg's Hardware Store donated those two sacks."

  "Wonderful!" I said, inspecting the first box. "Augustine will be pleased. What's in the sacks?"

  "Surplus fire blankets, extra-large, according to Mr. Burlington," she said.

  Great! I thought. Augustine only wanted food, accessories and toys. 'Got two sheds full of donated junk, don't need anymore' she had said when Mr. Burlington had tried to palm off two ancient cash registers to her a month ago.

  Just then a customer walked in. Gratia stood up and hurried over to greet her. I picked up the first box, which turned out to be quite light, and headed back through the waiting area into the salon reception and out to the street.

  As I placed the box into the Tahoe, the barista from Moozoos Café came hurrying along the street. He glanced about then darted into the hair salon. I followed close behind. He bustled through the reception area giving a perfunctory nod to the receptionist. In the waiting area he paused momentarily to adjust his apron, then he burst into the salon.

  "Gratia, I got the full story on the Teddy Tumpin mystery if you're interested," he said like a radio news announcer.

  Gratia, busy preparing the client's hair nodded at one of her assistants. The young woman took over as she marched toward the barista, her eyes eager with anticipation.

  "What ya got?"

  He touched Gratia on the arm and jerked his head, almost imperceptibly, toward the waiting area. She followed him out. I picked up the second box, it was heavier than the first and I struggled to balance it into a comfortable position.

  By the time I scrambled into the waiting room, the conversation was over. The barista had gone, and Gratia stood staring out into space, her perfectly manicured hand rubbing her chin.

  "What was that about?" I asked, knowing that Gratia had to tell.

  She ran a hand through her hair and smiled. "Teddy Tumpin's killer is in custody. The mystery has been solved."

  "Solved?" I said surprised.

  Gratia nodded and lowered her voice even though the waiting area was empty. "He turned himself into the sheriff's office this morning."

  "He?"

  "Yep, I always thought the killer was a man," Gratia said as if to herself. "But…"

  "Who is it?" I asked with impatience.

  Gratia gazed out into the distance, her eyes moist and with a soft voice said, "Roger Romantic."

  Chapter 31

  It took a moment for the words to settle in. Then the room began to spin. I stumbled into Gratia, dropped the box, the sharp thud echoed throughout the waiting area.

  Gratia steered me toward a chair. She enjoyed shocking people with her gossip but today she had genuine concern in her eyes.

  "If I didn't hear it from the barista I wouldn't repeat it," she said. "But the barista's contact in the sheriff's department is a personal friend. It seems Roger Romantic is in custody…"

  Her voice trailed off as one of her assistants came into the waiting area. "Gratia, can you come into the salon please, we need your advice." Gratia let out a frustrated huff, turned and scurried off into the salon.

  I called Roger.

  The phone rang several times, a slight click then Roger's voice.

  This is Roger Romantic. I'm not able to take your call right now. Please leave a message after the tone, and I'll reply as soon as I can.

  I left a message and called Millie, she picked up on the first ring.

  "Oh my gosh Ollie, the owner of the newspaper just called and said the killer of Teddy Tumpin is in custody."

  "That's what I've heard," I said with a trembling voice.

  Millie seemed deflated. "I'm on my way to the sheriff's department to get more information. At the very least I hope they will issue a statement."

  "Want me to join you?" I asked.

  "No but wish me luck."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Yep. Oh Ollie, don't forget the Green Bar Grill at seven p.m. tonight. Got to run."

  She hung up.

  I let out a sigh and glanced into the salon. Gratia was consulting with the customer, the two assistants at her side.

  I was still deciding what to do when a voice behind me said, "Ollie Stratford, isn't it?"

  I turned to see the sour face of the woman in the dowdy, gray dress, Alyssa Westwood. Only her face wasn't sour, it was smiling. As if by reflex, I pushed back my chair while I rose to my feet and extending my hand. "Hello again, Alyssa, I enjoyed your presentation at the Sisters of the Creek meeting yesterday."

  Her eyes twinkled and she gave a little bow. "Thank you, I'm pleased it was of some value." Again, she smiled, then her brow furrowed. "I'm sorry but I can't recall your business."

  "Ollie owns Ealing Homestead, the eve
nt center where Roger and Crystal are to be wed," said Gratia, walking into the waiting area. "It was part of Mr. Castleman's ranch, you know the place?"

  "Along the narrow lane close to the Garcia's lot?" quizzed Alyssa.

  "That's it," I said trying to get a word in ahead of Gratia.

  Alyssa nodded. "There's an abandoned oil well on the edge of the property and a cluster of two or three shacks a little way from the main homestead."

  "That's right," I said wondering how she knew the place in such detail.

  As if reading my thoughts, she said, "I visited an open house for the property six or seven months ago."

  There was a pause in the conversation.

  Gratia rubbed her hands, her eyes flashed as if she wanted to share a nugget of gossip with Alyssa. She stiffened her neck, placed a hand on her chin and in a conspiratorial whisper said, "Ollie is an amateur sleuth."

  "Is that a fact?" said Alyssa turning to gaze at me.

  "Ollie is Medlin Creek's version of Sherlock Holmes."

  Alyssa laughed. It was a little nervous laugh. "I'm sure the sheriff doesn't need any help solving crimes."

  Gratia jutted out her chin. "Ollie cracked open the mystery of the magic mumbles murder. You must have read about it in the Medlin Creek Times."

  "Yes," said Alyssa slowly, "I did read about it." She turned, tugged at a loose strand of hair and stared at me thoughtfully.

  "Gratia! We need your help," came a cry from one of her assistants.

  Gratia turned and hurried away into the salon.

  There was an awkward silence.

  "I'm picking up supplies for the animal shelter," I said at last. "What about you?"

  Alyssa lowered her voice to a hushed whisper. "Don't visit the hairdresser very often, not enough cash if you know what I mean. But today I'm here to celebrate, always get my hair done when I celebrate."

  "What are you celebrating?"

  Alyssa reached into her handbag, retrieving a battered brown bible.

  Oh no, why me!

  She flicked it open to a dog-eared page. "Then the LORD rained upon Sodom and upon Gomorrah brimstone and fire."

  "Sure did," I said, not wanting to be drawn any further into this conversation.

  "Well," she said with a wry smile, "I don't want to get into a weirdo religious conversation, but sometimes fire and brimstone is the only way to get a message across."

  "Worked with Sodom and Gomorrah," I said eyeing the exit.

  Alyssa smiled and ran an oversized hand through her hair. "Did you hear Teddy Tumpin was murdered?"

  "Yes, I guess it is all over town now."

  "Well," she said folding her arms across her chest. "Fire and brimstone worked on Teddy too and that's a cause for celebration."

  Then she waltzed as if she was as light as a feather into the main salon.

  I placed my hand on my cheek and watched Alyssa as she settled into a salon chair. All the while she was smiling. I called Roger. His voice mail clicked on, I left a message.

  Roger it's me Ollie. Please call me when you get this message.

  I carried the remaining pet supplies and sacks out to the Tahoe. I had to help Roger, but how? It will come to me at some point I thought. But meanwhile, I had the tasks on my list to complete. The engine turned over and I pointed the Tahoe toward the Medlin Creek Animal Shelter. Augustine was always short of supplies and I had plenty.

  I headed home, tossed the two sacks from Mr. Burlington into the small shack close to where I parked the Tahoe, scurried inside, and set to work on my class notes.

  Chapter 32

  It was five thirty p.m. by the time I finished the final task on my list. I took a shower, slipped into a lemon-colored blouse and blue jeans and wondered who Bob had invited to join us at the Green Bar Grill.

  A cherry-hued haze was coloring the sky as it approached dusk. I strolled along the dirt path and could see the sun beginning to set behind a line of cedar and oak trees on the top of a distant ridge. It was warm with a closeness in the atmosphere which comes before a thunderstorm.

  The Green Bar Grill is in an older part of town with cobbled streets and limestone buildings, part of the original Medlin Creek warehouse district. The sun had disappeared below the horizon as I pulled into the parking lot. Dark shards of dusk bathed the landscape, but there was no letup in the heat and humidity. In the distance a low, grumbling thunder rolled across the Hill Country.

  I circled the parking lot several times before finding a suitable space on the far side, the furthest distance from the front entrance, but I figured I needed the exercise.

  As I opened the Tahoe door to climb out, the sound of angry voices drifted into the cab. I paused, closed the door, and glanced toward the sound. Under the dim, yellow rays of a streetlamp, two men argued. I recognized both.

  The first, had wide shoulders and wore an old T-shirt and tattered blue jeans—Sid Wilson. The other man was immaculately dressed in a dark business suit—Dominick Leiden. What were they arguing about? With the Tahoe door closed the voices sounded muffled. Carefully, I eased open the door. Raised voices tumbled into the cab.

  "Give me the money," said Sid in a gruff voice.

  "Yes of course, payment is overdue. If you can just—"

  Sid grabbed Dominick by the lapels. "Listen, I expect the cash before noon Friday. Do I make myself clear?"

  Dominick nodded.

  Sid hurried away from the dim yellow glow of the lamppost and disappeared into the shadows. Dominick let out a little chuckle, brushed himself off, and walked with an authoritative stride toward the entrance of the restaurant.

  I waited several minutes then climbed out of the Tahoe. Half of me hoped I wouldn't see Dominick inside of the restaurant, the other half was curious and wanted to know what the argument was about.

  Chapter 33

  Inside the dimly lit watering hole, the air filled with the scent of roasting meat, beer, and barbecue sauce. The waiters carried trays with plates, each holding a mini-mountain of meat, including chicken, pork, beef, venison, quail, lamb, and goat. Excited chatter mixed with occasional bursts of laughter gave the place a friendly aura. Patrons in large family groups sat around tables enjoying their evening meal as popular country music tunes played low over the speaker system. Smaller groups occupied booths that lined the edge of the dining room.

  Millie, Bob, and another person sat in a booth close to the bar. I recognized the other individual instantly. It was Dominick Leiden! I sucked in my breath and made my way over.

  I greeted Millie and Bob then stuck out my hand for Dominick. His grip was warm, firm.

  "Nice to see you again, Ollie," he said with an affectionate smile.

  "You two know each other?" asked Bob with surprise.

  "We met at the Sisters of the Creek meeting," replied Dominick. "Ollie was one of the few ladies who didn't sign a letter of interest in my fund."

  I shifted in my seat.

  "Oh, you must be an awful salesman," said Bob with a mischievous smile. "Ollie owns an event center on the edge of town, Ealing Homestead."

  Millie added. "Dominick I'm sure you know Medlin Creek is in the wedding capital of Texas, and event center owners are the nouveau riche of the Hill Country." Then she added with a devious laugh, "If you can't sell to Ollie, your investment fund is doomed."

  Dominick tipped back his head and let out a loud chuckle. He had a glittering smile. "You know what Millie, I think you are right." Dominick turned. "Guess I'll have to try harder. Let's start with the meal, it's on me!" Deep within his eyes something flashed, but I couldn't tell what.

  "Champagne and caviar all round," yelled Millie.

  Dominick's eyes widened.

  I wanted to kick Millie, but instead smiled and changed the subject. "How many people have you signed up to your fund?"

  "Too many, looks like I'll have to disappoint some people." His voice lowered. "Can't please everyone. But I'll keep a slot open for you, Ollie."

  "Me too!" cried Millie.r />
  Dominick shook his head. "Business owners only. Sorry Millie, but I can't take your cash."

  Bob ordered appetizers and turned to speak in low mumbled tones to Dominick. Millie and I engaged in girl talk. It was fun eating appetizers and chatting with Millie about nothing in particular. Neither of us broached the subject of Roger and the death of Teddy Tumpin although we both wanted to speak about it.

  The waiter arrived and handed out menus. Dominick fished around in his jacket pocket and pulled out a pair of reading glasses. He inspected the menu for several moments as the waiter took our orders.

  After the first course and the second round of drinks everyone relaxed. Millie talked excitedly about her plans to become a full-time reporter. I chatted about my vision for Ealing Homestead, Bob added in his dream of breaking away from the corporate world and setting up as a solo practitioner. Then Dominick spoke of his plans to retire in Medlin Creek.

  Despite his stiff business suit Dominick turned out to be a great conversationalist. Time passed quickly, aided by several rounds of laughter at Dominick's stories of life in the investment management industry.

  As the waiter collected plates, the conversation suddenly stopped. A somber mood descended like a dense fog rolling across the hills. Dominick's glittering smile vanished. Bob scowled, even Millie fidgeted uncomfortably in her seat. There was one thing on everyone's mind we hadn't spoken of yet.

  "The sheriff's department are holding Roger overnight," said Millie breaking into the silence.

  "Roger didn't kill anyone," I scoffed. "He's retired, has bandy legs and walks with a stoop, and he was on the homecoming stage most of the time. How did he kill Teddy Tumpin?"

  "Martial arts skills," said Millie in a mysterious voice, then she added, "but I don't believe he is guilty either."

  "Oh, don't be silly. Roger trains at the dojo but he doesn't have superhuman powers, although I'm not so sure about Crystal," I said with a little laugh.

  Bob scowled. "Roger knows I'm happy to represent him should he need an attorney."