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

  "See you later," I called after her as she scuttled out of the café.

  The barista hurried after Millie, leaving his assistant in charge. I watched him call after her. She stopped and they talked for several minutes. Then the barista hurried along the street and turned into Gratia Violeta's hair salon.

  I picked up my cell phone, looked at the screen and wondered where the time had gone. The joy over booking Ealing Homestead had worn off, replaced by concern for Roger. I typed him a text message.

  Roger, how are things going between you and Crystal? Let me know how I can help.

  For several more minutes I continued to stare out of the window onto Creek Street, watching the pedestrians as they peered into shop windows and came out of storefronts. They were locals with time on their hands, or tourists. Almost all were in their sixties and seventies or young mothers with children under five years old. Everyone else was at work or at school.

  The gentle ping of the doorbell brought me back into the present.

  "I've already told you I don't have any money," an angry voice boomed across the café. A wide-shouldered man stomped his foot, his face growing a deep crimson. His yellow, stained T-shirt and tattered blue jeans had seen better days, as had his scuffed, black sneakers. Over his arm he held tightly on to a dark blue, hooded top.

  The assistant folded his arms and shook his head.

  "Sir, we love charity, but this is a private business. I'll be out of a job if the owner catches me giving away his expensive product. No, if you want one of our handcrafted beverages you will have to pay for it."

  "Listen you fool," said the man, who had the rugged good looks of a movie star but without the charm or dress sense. "I need coffee, none of that fancy stuff, only a very large, black, hot coffee. I can't pay for it. I don't have any money. Pour me a coffee right now!"

  The assistant peered out from behind the bar, a wary look on his face.

  "No money, no drink!"

  Just then, the café door flew open and in walked Jane Braithwaite. She glanced at the menu board then at the scruffy, wide-shouldered man.

  "I'll have a medium cappuccino and give this gentleman anything he wants. It's on me today," she said in a cheery voice.

  The assistant nodded. "Yes, vicar Braithwaite. I'll bring your drink over to your table."

  The wide-shouldered man swiveled around. "Thank you, it's nice to see that the concept of the good Samaritan is alive and well in Medlin Creek."

  "You look like you need it," smiled the vicar. She scanned the café and strolled over to my table while the assistant busied himself preparing the drinks.

  "Ealing Homestead is a real blessing to you and this community," she said with a smile. "Roger's will be the first, I suspect, of many high-profile ceremonies at your wonderful event center."

  I had to hand it to the vicar, she knew how to make people feel good.

  "Hope you are right, vicar Braithwaite," I said. Then added, "who was the guy you bought the coffee for?"

  She looked across the café toward the man leaning against the bar and shrugged. "Never seen him before. I don't think he's a local."

  The assistant brought over her beverage and we chatted quietly about life in Medlin Creek.

  Chapter 14

  Back at Ealing Homestead, the rest of the afternoon passed without any incident. I played with Bodie, checked off tasks related to teaching, and began work on a new business statistics course. The clock high on the mantel chimed the top of the hour, four p.m. Up I got, tidied the desk and stretched. "That's another day in the books," I said aloud walking to the bedroom to prepare for the evening.

  The sun was low on the horizon as I strolled along the dirt path through the little iron gate to my Tahoe. Due to the heavy, homecoming traffic the drive across town took almost twenty minutes and another ten minutes to find a parking space.

  The high school homecoming parade takes place on Marvin Close, a road next to the school. It is a half-mile long street that dead-ends on the Riverwalk trail. Crammed with administrative offices, fast food shops, and apartments, it is closed several times each year for Medlin Creek High School events. I parked the Tahoe and checked my cell phone. A message from Roger.

  Ollie, thanks for your earlier text. Yes, you can help. Head to the RV park, close to Marvin. Crystal is in the homecoming queen RV on Roslyn Place. Please visit with her before the parade.

  I paused for a moment to type my response.

  Okay, I'm here, will walk over.

  "Hope she keeps her teeth in," I muttered as I climbed out of the Tahoe and strolled across a grassy patch of land.

  It was a little after five p.m. and the crowd was growing. Some former students wore color guard or band uniform. Others wore high school T-shirts protested Marybelle —football, baseball, soccer, basketball, and track and field. There were even a few people wearing hockey uniforms.

  As I weaved through the crowd, I noticed a small girl, seven or eight years old, crying. She wore a Tiny Steppers uniform, a gold and blue dress with white cowboy boots. Her jet-black hair was swept into two long ponytails under a white cowgirl hat. A small group of women and children surrounded her.

  "There, there, Marybelle," I heard one woman say. "Mr. Tittles will be alright. If we don't find him here, he will make his way back home, Lord willing and the creek don’t rise."

  "But Mom, he's only a kitten," protested Marybelle, her large hazel eyes sending tears running down chestnut brown cheeks.

  A stooped, old man with a cane made his way toward the group. He appeared to hurry, but age made his progress slow.

  "Grandpa Marston," cried the girl wiping tears from her eyes, "did you find Mr. Tittles?"

  The old man looked down at the girl, his ancient eyes clouded and glassy.

  "No child, no."

  Marybelle burst into tears.

  The old man turned toward the mother and shook his head. "It's like trying to bag flies looking for a kitten in this crowd."

  Feeling sorry for the child, I looked toward the ground, scanning the area for a kitten. The old man was right, it was a lost cause. As I turned to continue, a voice called out.

  "Ollie, over here."

  It was Roger, and he was running toward me. A glance at his face confirmed what I already suspected; he had a problem.

  "Roger, what is it?"

  Roger sucked in air and leaned against my arm for support.

  "It's Crystal."

  He inhaled for several seconds then with a ragged voice, continued, "Overheard her muttering about killing and death." His eyes narrowed. "Don't want to alarm you but if anything happens tonight, you would have to turn her in to the sheriff's department."

  "Me?"

  Roger continued without pausing.

  "That would be the right thing to do, part of your civic duty. I wouldn't hold it against you, Ollie."

  "Me?" I said again.

  "Listen Ollie, I'm just saying if Crystal were behind bars I wouldn't be able to marry her. I'm retired, there isn't time to wait. I'd have to move on with my life."

  Either Roger had cracked or else there was something he wasn't telling me. My late husband, John, always said "it helps when others have doubts to discuss your own personal experience."

  I tried sharing.

  "Now, now, Roger, it's quite normal to get cold feet, happened to me before I married John. Things will settle down after the wedding."

  His eyes were flat, and he had a curious expression on his face. "How was I to know when I proposed that she was some sort of mystic, mad woman?"

  I tried encouragement.

  "Focus on the positive; look to the future. You two could be together for decades. Can you see the beautiful years ahead?"

  The desperate look in his eyes left me in little doubt of the answer. He grabbed my arm and tugged me toward Roslyn Place, a narrow alley off a street that feeds into Marvin Close.

  "Crystal's in the homecoming queen RV," Roger huffed as we approached the alley. He tugge
d me to a stop outside of the RV and held tight on to my arm while he caught his breath.

  "Keep an eye on Crystal until the start of the parade. It would break her heart if I called off the wedding because…" His voice trailed off.

  I didn't like the sound of it, but guilt over my earlier eagerness to book his wedding at Ealing Homestead clouded my thinking. "Okay," I said, then instantly regretted my words.

  Roger avoided eye contact. "Good. Crystal likes you."

  I was having second thoughts. "Roger, are you sure you want me to go inside. Crystal is not about to do another foretelling is she?"

  "No, no, nothing like that," he said, handing me a small container as his eyes darted around. He lowered his voice to a whisper. "I've got to go to the Riverwalk end of Marvin Close to set up my presentation. Do your best. I'll leave it to you then. Oh, the container contains her spare dentures." And with that he slipped away.

  "Okay," I called after him. "Okay, but after this we are even, no more guilt on my part!"

  I climbed up the little steps to the front door of the RV. Silently I turned the door handle and pushed. The door swung open a fraction. I peered inside.

  It was dark, the scent of cedar and musk filled my nostrils. As my eyes adjusted to the gloom I saw Crystal, with her back to me, muttering. Across her shoulders rested the shawl I had seen earlier, but this evening she was wearing a golden long-sleeved gown. On top of her head she wore a silver crown. By her side, a metal cage. I had seen something like it earlier, but I couldn't quite place it at that moment.

  Crystal half turned toward the sack, dipped a large plump arm inside and fished around for several moments. Her hand grasped tightly onto something that I couldn't see. She mumbled words low under her breath then stretched her arm to her side and opened her palm.

  To my surprise, a scruffy white mouse sat perfectly still in the center of her hand. Its only movement the twitching of curious whiskers. The mouse stared into her face, its dark rodent eyes transfixed as if it was in some sort of ghostly trance.

  Once again, in a soft deep voice, Crystal uttered a stream of unintelligible words. The mouse sat up on its hind legs, nose twitching. Slowly, she bent her arm and brought the mouse toward her face until it was only six inches away from her eyes.

  I knew now that I was seeing her attempt to use her clairvoyant powers for some unknown end. Glued to the spot I watched wondering what would happen next.

  For what seemed like an eternity the mouse stared into Crystal's face, its whiskers slowly twitching. I sucked in a breath as my heart pounded hard against my chest.

  In an instant that seemed to stretch for minutes but was a matter of seconds, Crystal scrunched up her face, let out a wild shriek, and her eyes protruded like golf balls like they had during the foretelling. The mouse let out a terrified high-pitched squeak and toppled over onto its back, four stiff little legs pointing toward the heavens.

  "Oh my," cackled Crystal holding the deceased rodent by the tail. "The powers of mesmerism and psychokinesis grow stronger by the hour."

  In my throat I trapped a startled gasp and my stomach churned. A single thought entered my mind. Had this hideous woman used her mysterious powers to entrap Roger?

  "Something bigger," Crystal hissed. "Need to try the powers on something bigger."

  She fished around in the sack and pulled out another mouse, this time brown. "Oh my, you are nice and plump. After you, I'll get Roger to buy me a rabbit or three," she said in a singsong voice. I watched in horror as the rodent succumbed to her devilish powers.

  It was only then that I remembered how Bob's legs had wobbled and collapsed when he tried to hold eye contact with her. Had she used her powers on him as well? As I thought about what to do next, something flashed by my feet—a tiny, furry, tabby feline.

  "Mr. Tittles," I gasped aloud.

  Crystal turned, dropped the dead rodent into the red and white bucket and peered toward the door.

  "Doctor Stratford," she said with a sly smile. "I see you've brought a cuddly friend."

  If Crystal was surprised at my appearance she didn't show it. Mr. Tittles scurried across the RV floor and jumped into her lap.

  "Roger asked me to stop by," I said, trying to keep my voice from wobbling.

  Crystal chuckled. "He's such a gentleman." Then she looked down at the kitten her eyes dancing with delight.

  "Oh my, you are not much bigger than a very plump mouse," she said stroking Mr. Tittles.

  He purred.

  "Do you need anything?" I said trying to avoid her eyes. I didn't want her experimenting with mesmerism and psychokinesis on me.

  "Nothing."

  "Good," I said advancing toward Mr. Tittles. "Come on Mr. Tittles it's time to go."

  Mr. Tittles let out an angry meow and settled deeper into Crystal's lap. "What a lovely little kitty you are," Crystal said as she placed him into the palm of her right hand. Mr. Tittles stayed perfectly still, his large trusting eyes staring into her face. "Beautiful kitty, want to stay with me? Yes, you do. Auntie Crystal will take loving care of you."

  Crystal's oversized beady eyes slid toward my face. Again, she smiled a sly, devious smile.

  "Doctor Stratford, Mr. Tittles can remain here. Please leave now, I need to prepare for the parade."

  Chapter 15

  "Crystal, I can't leave without Mr. Tittles. I have to return him to his owner, so I'm sure you understand."

  Her eyes narrowed as she raised a chubby finger pointing in my direction. She shifted her weight forward in the chair. "Don't look at her eyes," I muttered to myself. "The woman is like Medusa without the snakes." But I couldn't help myself. Our eyes locked and her protruding orbs held me transfixed.

  "The kitten stays with me," she said in a slow hypnotic voice. "The kitten stays with me. Doctor Stratford, you will leave now, and the kitten stays with me."

  My legs wobbled, I looked down to steady myself and noticed in my right hand the container Roger had given me.

  "Here are your teeth!" I yelled, tossing the container toward her.

  She raised both hands to catch it. Mr. Tittles jumped, and I rushed forward sweeping him up into my arms.

  "Got to run," I said throwing the words over my shoulder as I sprinted toward the exit. As the door closed Crystal, like a squirrel whose acorn is missing, shrieked.

  Outside, I blinked several times in the bright sunlight, holding tightly on to Mr. Tittles, who was less than happy to find himself in my arms rather than Crystal's comfortable lap.

  It was clear I'd be unable to hold the kitten all evening, so I headed back to the Tahoe. I didn't have a cat crate but figured it would be easier to catch him in the Tahoe than running free along Marvin Close.

  Back toward the Tahoe I hurried, taking a shortcut across an area used by participants as they waited to join the parade. Members of the school band, color guards, and high steppers chatted excitedly as they prepared. I bustled around a group of Tiny Stepper's, but Marybelle was not among their number.

  I scuttled into a secluded area lined with live oak, cedar trees, and clumps of long grasses. Mr. Tittles had given up the struggle and peered up at me with venom in his large eyes. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Teddy Tumpin. I swiveled to wave and smile, hoping he would remember me from earlier this morning. Mr. Tittles wriggled hard, almost breaking free.

  Teddy Tumpin didn't wave back but stared with eyes fixed looking over my left shoulder. I spun around. The wide-shouldered man with the yellow, stained T-shirt and tattered blue jeans, from Moozoos Café, strode toward Teddy. The two men locked eyes, and I watched with a curious fascination as they squared up.

  "This is the last warning I am going to give you," said the wide-shouldered man shaking his fist in Teddy Tumpin's face.

  Teddy flushed, a huge vein pulsated in his neck, and he bared his teeth like some savage beast. "Sid Wilson, is that a threat? Teddy don't take kindly to threats." His voice rumbled low like the roar of a lion.

  Sid screwed his eyes
shut, rubbed his bristly chin and swung for the big man's head. Fortunately for Sid, he missed stumbling to the ground under the ferocity of his own force. Teddy tipped his head back and let out a roar of a laugh. Just then the speaker system crackled into life.

  Honor guard participants please line up now. Teddy Tumpin and Crystal Healy, please go to your positions.

  As Teddy scuttled off, Sid Wilson clambered to his feet. "I'll have my day of revenge, just you wait and see Teddy Tumpin, just you wait and see."

  Sid Wilson dusted himself off and stomped, his back ramrod straight, eyes narrowed with a deadly focus, toward Marvin Close.

  "Excuse me, young lady." A bony finger prodded my shoulder. I swiveled around. Two hazel eyes, narrowed, stared back.

  "Yes," I said, still fretting over the fight between Teddy Tumpin and Sid Wilson.

  "Young lady, I believe you have something that belongs to me."

  "I do?"

  "Yes, you do."

  It was then I recognized his face.

  "Grandpa Marston!" The excitement in my voice must have surprised him for he took two little steps back.

  "Do I know you?" he said jabbing a bony finger.

  "Oh no, I saw you and your granddaughter looking for Mr. Tittles earlier, so I thought I would join the hunt and here he is."

  Mr. Tittles swiveled his head and let out an appreciative meow as he snuggled into Grandpa Marston's arms.

  The old man smiled, placing Mr. Tittles on his shoulder and stretching out his hand. "We’ve howdied but we haven’t shook. Name is Edward Marston, Grandpa Marston round these parts."

  He had large, rough hands with a strong grip. "Nice to meet you; I'm Ollie Stratford."

  "That accent's not from round here," he said, a curious glint in his eyes.

  "East Texas," I replied with a cheeky smile.

  He laughed. "Not with an accent like that you're not."

  I laughed.

  "Fairly new to town," I admitted. "This is my first homecoming parade."

  "Well, welcome! What brings you to these parts?"

  "Ealing Homestead."