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

  Dominick sat upright, his fists clenched into tight balls. "Quite frankly, this whole business is ridiculous. We all know who killed Teddy Tumpin."

  Everyone nodded except me.

  "Wait," I said, "who did it?"

  "Crystal," whispered Millie in a soft voice.

  "Crystal!" I gasped. "But she can barely walk."

  "Roger's taking the rap to protect her. He's doing it for love," Millie said.

  "I think he's nuts," Bob added.

  Dominick placed his arms on the table and steepled his hands. His eyes shifted from Bob to Millie to me. "I'm afraid you're quite wrong about Roger and Crystal."

  That got everyone's attention.

  "What do you mean?" asked Millie.

  Dominick blinked his bland, gray eyes but didn't speak.

  A sense of guilt and anger washed over me. Guilt at not being able to do more to protect my friend, anger at my causal approach to the death of a local hero. A man had been murdered, a life taken unjustly, just like John. And now a friend was on the hook for the murder, and I had done nothing to help.

  "Dominick, it seems you know something the rest of us don't," I said in a sharp tone. "If Bob is going to represent Roger, it is only right that you share the information."

  Dominick leaned back and adjusted his glasses with his forefinger as if to bring the situation into sharper focus. Casually, as if ordering dessert, he said "It is common knowledge that Teddy Tumpin and Sid Wilson had a long-running feud, the original cause of which no one remembers. I'm not saying Sid is the killer, it's just something the sheriff's department might want to investigate."

  Remembering the scuffle between Teddy and Sid at the homecoming parade I said, "Have you given a statement to the sheriff's department?"

  Dominick shook his head. "If they are halfway competent, they'll follow up on Sid without my help."

  "Oh my gosh, Dominick! You'd better tell them anyway, nudge them along a little," Millie added.

  It was at this point that curiosity got the better of me.

  "Dominick, I saw you arguing with Sid Wilson earlier. What was that about?"

  Dominick's gray eyes became steely and hard. He opened his mouth to speak. Just then, Millie's cell phone rang.

  "It's the owner of the newspaper," she said in an urgent whisper.

  We fell silent.

  "Yes, yes I can have an article on your desk first thing tomorrow morning."

  There was a long pause. Then the rapid croak of the newspaper owner became audible. I could not make out the words, but the tone was urgent.

  "Full-time position at the paper a possibility," Millie repeated in an excited voice, "Okay… yes… I'll get the article to you tonight. On my way to the newspaper right now."

  Millie laughed. "Oh my! this is so exciting. I'm gonna stop by the newspaper offices to write up an article about the death of Teddy Tumpin. Enjoy the rest of your meal."

  Bob stood up.

  "No need, honey," said Millie, her eyes darting from Bob to me. "Stay here with Ollie and Dominick. The newspaper office is… dark… and boring."

  Bob hesitated. "Been a while since I visited the newspaper office."

  "Boring place, nothing to do, dark too," repeated Millie. "Stay here and have another beer, dear." She rose to her feet and hurried away.

  Bob's eyes narrowed. He pulled on his jacket. "I'm going with her. See you two later."

  He caught up with Millie as she scurried out of the restaurant door.

  Chapter 34

  I was surprised to feel a delicious thrill at sitting there alone with Dominick. He smiled. It was a warm, friendly smile. I let out a contented breath.

  "So, you're in the investment business," I said as the restaurant door swung shut.

  "Yes, I've run my own investment fund the past ten years. Before that I worked for a brokerage house in Manhattan, that's where I cut my teeth."

  "Oh really! Wall Street?"

  "No, Fifty-seventh and Seventh, close to Carnegie Hall. That company went under during the last recession."

  "Yes," I nodded, "It was a rough one. The markets have been on a downward trend lately. How are your investments doing?"

  Dominick picked a piece of lint from the tablecloth and stared at me hard. "My strategy is to invest in a diversified portfolio for the long run. Market declines represent an opportunity to buy things cheap and hold them until the price comes back."

  A high-pitched screech echoed through the bar as someone propped open the back door, allowing a noisy but invisible exhaust fan to pull in cool night air and purge away the stale, sour vapors of food and beer.

  Dominick continued. "Most of my investors understand the strategy. That's why I only have a few slots open for new investors. I'm sure you appreciate not having all your eggs in the same basket, especially since you're working an event center business."

  "Certainly, has its peaks and troughs," I said.

  Dominick smiled, picked up his cell phone and glanced at the screen. "Sorry, Ollie, but I've got to hit the trail. I've a five forty-five a.m. conference call with an overseas investor. Let me walk you to your vehicle."

  He took my arm and we strolled outside. Thunder echoed across the parking lot, but no rain. A few paces from my Tahoe he stopped abruptly to face me. "Let's go somewhere Friday evening. A show… movies… rodeo… football game… you name it, I'll take you."

  I was so astonished I almost laughed. But I was pleased, very pleased. More than very pleased. "Oh, I'd like to. Where did you have in mind?"

  "The Medlin Creek Players have an open-air show on the Riverwalk terrace. Meet me by Overton Bridge, and we can stroll along the river to the event. I've got tickets."

  "You're on."

  "Seven p.m. under the bridge," he said with a contented smile.

  As I climbed into the Tahoe, he smiled again and said, "take this." From his jacket pocket he pulled a single sheet of paper. "It's an expression of interest form for my fund. I'll keep a spot open for you."

  I started the engine, Dominick waved. A flash of lightning streaked across the night sky. Oversized raindrops began to fall as I drove away.

  Chapter 35

  The Tahoe hummed contentedly as I drove through the empty streets toward Ealing Homestead. It was unusually dark; the moon was blotted out by heavy thunderclouds. I switched on the radio, tuning it to KUT FM 90.5, a public radio station from Austin.

  Markets fell for the twelfth consecutive trading day. The S&P 500 is trading at the lowest levels in five years. Bonnard Corporation announced they are laying off three thousand workers and closing their south Austin campus… Tonight it will remain muggy and warm with a ninety percent chance of a thunderstorm.

  A flashing light on the dashboard caught my attention.

  "Gas! I'm out of gas!"

  The nearest gas station was a mile and a half back into town. I eased the Tahoe to a stop, turned around and cruised back barely touching the gas pedal. Around one final sharp bend and the bright lights of the Hill Country Quick Stop came into sight. Relief flooded my body. "Guess this must be how the sailors felt when they saw a lighthouse," I said, pulling up to a fuel pump.

  I turned off the engine. The cell phone rang. I checked the number, it was Bob Lukey.

  "Hi Bob, what's up?"

  "At the newspaper office with Millie, can you come over."

  "Now?"

  "Yes," he said in a glum voice.

  I glanced at the cell phone screen, it was a little after nine thirty p.m.

  "See you in ten minutes."

  The Medlin Creek Times occupied a storefront on the ground floor of a three-story office building on Tempest Lane, just east of Creek Street.

  Bob greeted me at the door. "It's Millie," he said, "I need your help."

  "What?"

  Bob didn't answer but waved me inside into the reception area. There was a curved reception desk in front of an oak-paneled partition covered with framed prints of the newspaper's front page. Opposite the receptio
n desk were two low-slung leather sofas separated by a wooden coffee table. On top of the table were recent additions of the newspaper.

  He leaned against the marble top of the reception desk and dropped his voice to an urgent whisper. The reception area was empty, but the occasion seemed to demand low voices. "The puppets—they're back!"

  Without further explanation, he turned and led the way behind the partition. We walked into a dimly lit space with a labyrinth of cubicles, bordered by two glass-windowed meeting rooms and the newspaper owner's office.

  Millie sat in a tiny cubicle hunched over a keyboard typing. The cubicle had a small shelf, a tiny desk, and room for two office chairs. "Gimme a minute, hon," she said without turning around.

  It was a typical nondescript corporate cubicle except that puppets crammed the small shelf, spilled off the desk, and filled the spare office chair. Millie's handbag lay next to her chair on the floor, open. Madame Bleu and Professor Purple stared out.

  Bob pulled out a chair from the opposite cubicle and sat down in glum silence. I gave him an encouraging smile but was mystified by the sheer number of puppets.

  "Done!" shouted Millie pumping her fist in the air. She twirled around. "Oh my gosh, Ollie, what are you doing here?"

  "It's about the puppets," interrupted Bob. "Ollie's here to talk to you about the puppets."

  "I am?" I said, feeling my face reddening.

  "Oh, these," Millie said waving her arm casually at the jumble of puppets in the cubicle. "I'm looking after them temporarily for Judith Cutler. She has so many she's giving them away. I thought they'd be good company for Professor Purple and Madame Bleu. What do you think, Ollie?"

  "I can see your logic," was all I could muster.

  "Anyway," she continued, "they get in the way here, so I was going to bring them home tonight."

  Bob started to shout. Explode even. That seemed to catch Millie’s attention, if just for a smidgen of a moment. "Can’t you see they are, well they are in the way?"

  "Okay, okay," screeched Millie, "I'll return the puppets back to Judith. But Professor Purple and Madame Bleu stay with me, agreed?"

  Bob nodded. "But, only if they stay out of the way!"

  "Of course, darling!" Millie grinned, a devious mischievous grin.

  I gave Millie the look. She smiled sweetly. I giggled, so did Millie.

  "All right," said Bob ignoring our girly stuff. "What you got?"

  Millie read her article aloud.

  "Hmm, there doesn't appear to be many facts to go on," Bob said thoughtfully. "It's good you left Roger's name out."

  "For now, until we get a little more clarity," Millie replied.

  "We all know Roger is not the killer," I said. "Guess the only way we can show that is by finding out who killed Teddy."

  "And why," added Millie tilting her head in comprehension. "That'd be easier with a list of suspects."

  In the back of my mind I'd been thinking about this, but my thoughts were not fully formed yet. "Well, Roger's at the top of the list right now but who else?"

  "Most murders are committed by people the victim knows," suggested Bob.

  "Crystal?" inquired Millie.

  "What's the motive?" asked Bob.

  "Former girlfriend of Teddy Tumpin," I said.

  "Jealousy," added Millie, taking out a notebook and pen.

  Bob stared out into space for a long moment. "It makes sense," he said at last.

  "Who else?" asked Millie.

  "Alyssa Westwood," I said. "I ran into her at Moozoos Café staring at Teddy Tumpin with dagger eyes."

  "Interesting," said Bob. "Anything else on Alyssa?"

  "Yes," I continued. "The following morning, I was on the trail with Emma Garcia. I saw Alyssa hiding behind a clump of trees."

  Millie's eyes grew wide. "What was she doing?"

  "Watching Teddy Tumpin go through his exercise routine. But I've no idea why she was hiding."

  "Hmm," commented Bob. "That's strange. If my memory serves me correctly, Alyssa was involved in a drug doping scandal some years back."

  "Okay, I'll do a little digging," said Millie.

  We fell into silence.

  "Anyone else?" I asked. Then a thought hit me. Dominick had argued with Sid Wilson and was a friend of Roger's. "What about Dominick Leiden?"

  "What? Was his after-dinner conversation that bad?" Bob laughed. "Anyway, what is the link to Teddy Tumpin? I can't see a motive."

  I shrugged.

  "I'll dig into Dominick's background," Millie said.

  Bob ran a hand through his dreadlocks. "What about Sid Wilson? I hear he got into a fight with Teddy Tumpin at the homecoming parade. He should be on the suspect's list."

  Millie cried out, "Yes!" Her eyes flashed with excitement. "Sid should be at the top."

  Chapter 36

  Another streak of lightning flashed across the darkened sky. I sat behind the steering wheel trying to decide what to do next. Bob had set off back to his apartment in Austin, and Millie had just driven out of the parking lot on her way home. But something niggled at the back of my mind, something to do with Crystal and Roger.

  The engine idled as that something tried to take form in my brain. I put the Tahoe into drive and headed home along Tempest Lane. After three minutes, I turned around and headed in the opposite direction toward Roger's apartment.

  This late into the evening the parking lot was almost full. Trucks interspersed with SUVs and the occasional four-door sedans lined up in neat rows as if they were on a car sale lot. I circled around three times pulling into an empty spot opposite the dumpster.

  I cut the engine and turned off the lights and wondered what to do next. Crystal wouldn't be expecting visitors so late into the evening so taking the elevator and knocking on the front door wasn't a great option. In my handbag I fished around for my cell phone. From the contacts tab I dialed Roger's number. The phone rang for a minute then clicked on to voicemail. I left another message.

  Through my contacts I scrolled searching for Crystal's number. My plan was to let her know I'd stop by in five minutes and hoped she would invite me in. What I'd be looking for inside the apartment I didn't know. Anything suspicious I suppose, but my thoughts were no more concrete than that.

  Just then, a figure came out of the apartment. Instinctively I slipped down low in my seat.

  It was Crystal!

  She walked directly toward the Tahoe and moved rather gracefully. The sluggish lumbering steps I had seen earlier replaced with little short steps on the tips of her toes with her left arm swinging back and forth like a pendulum.

  Under her right arm she carried something. A streak of illumination from an overhead lamppost revealed a crate. It appeared to be metallic. She passed under the light of another lamppost, then walked all the way along the path in my direction until she came to the dumpster.

  Crystal stopped, glanced around furtively, and disappeared behind the dumpster. Now I was curious, but from my position I couldn't see anything. With great care I flipped the ignition key to on and lowered the passenger side window. The growl of distant thunder echoed into the cab. An instant later another sound entered the cab—a faint rhythmic scratching followed by a metallic clatter like that of a garbage can lid falling to the ground.

  Crystal reappeared. There was a flash of light followed by the faint glow of a cigarette. For several long moments puffing on the cigarette she gazed in my direction. Suddenly, she threw away the cigarette and headed toward me. I held my breath.

  At the last moment she veered to the right, pulled out a set of keys and climbed into a parked truck. The lights flicked on, the engine turned over, and she drove off into the darkness. I released my breath.

  Another rumble of thunder, this time nearer, echoed across the sky.

  Chapter 37

  I sat up in my seat watching Crystal's taillights disappear into the distance. What was she doing behind the dumpster? And where was she going now?

  It was all very puzzling, b
ut I sensed the answer was close at hand.

  One of my last thoughts as I turned out onto the road back to Ealing Homestead was that whether Roger liked it or not, he would have to find an alternative venue for his wedding.

  The Tahoe came to a gentle stop on the dirt drive at Ealing Homestead. I carefully climbed out; the aches and pains of yesterday's dojo class weighing heavily on my body. Another streak of lightning flashed across the sky followed by a crashing rumble of thunder. "The storm must be almost overhead," I said, gazing up at the sky, but all I could see was dark.

  As I hurried across the driveway, I spotted movement by the outbuildings. I stopped, waited, expecting to see a deer, fox, maybe even a porcupine; after all, it was late summer and nocturnal animals were out prowling around for food. Something flickered in front of my eyes for just an instant, then I blinked and it was gone. Another rumble of thunder, this time more distant.

  Then I remembered, tonight's the annual Hill Country possum count. Now I was curious. "As long as the rain holds off I may as well see what it is," I muttered. Back to the Tahoe I hurried. I rummaged around in the trunk until I found what I was searching for—a flashlight.

  Carefully, I made my way over to the smallest outbuilding. I had the flashlight in my hand but kept it turned off so as not to disturb the critter, whatever it was. The door to the smallest shack was slightly ajar, but it was too dark to see inside. I fumbled for the flashlights on switch.

  A sharp shove pushed me through the doorway. I twirled in time to see a glint of pearly white teeth set deep in a hooded top. My legs gave way. Off-balance I stumbled. The flashlight flew from my grip clattering along the ground. It hit a sack then fizzled out.

  Total darkness.

  I shouted as the door slammed shut. The click of the outside bolt sent fear shooting through my veins. Panic-stricken I shouted again, pounding on the wooden door but it did no good. I was trapped like a lobster in a pot.

  In the darkness I felt around until I found the flashlight, pressed the on button—nothing. A sharp shake and the bulb flickered dimly, its weak yellow light illuminating the shack. There were small windows with wire mesh nailed outside of the glass. I could never climb through one. The bulb flickered rapidly then went out.