Kentucky Murders: A Small Town Murder Mystery (3 page)

“Remember that next time, dummy,” said Tommy, opening his beer.  He raised the can to his lips and chugged it down.

“When was the last time we went shooting together?” asked Jesse.

“Don’t know. High School, I guess.”

“Yeah, I think so. We’ll have to do this more often now that you and Kate…” He looked toward the ground without finishing.

“Me and Kate what?” Tommy’s eyes narrowed. “Broke up? Bullshit. It’s just a temporary misunderstanding. We just need a few days to… to rest.” He nudged Jesse with his elbow and winked.

“That’s not the story going around town. Kate’s saying you two broke up for good.”

“We’ll see about that. When she comes to her senses she’ll beg to get back with me.” He wasn’t sure how to turn this around yet, but who else in town was good enough for Kate?

“What are you going to do?” asked Jesse. “Send her flowers?”  He laughed at the thought.

Tommy sipped another beer and looked up through the trees at the bright sky above. “That’s a damn good idea, Jess. That’d surprise the hell out of her. Wouldn’t it?” He finished the last of his second beer and motioned for another. “Flowers. Tommy Ray giving flowers.” He shook his head.

Just then, a large black crow soared overhead above the treetops. Tommy snatched the 12-gauge that was leaning against the truck. He pumped a shell into the chamber and raised the barrel, lining it up slightly ahead of the flight path of the bird. He squeezed off another thunderous shot. The bird’s heavy wings went still and it plummeted downward. It bounced off tree branches as it fell and thudded to the ground fifteen yards from them. Its wings then began flapping slowly, beating against the dirt. As they walked up to it, they could see its black eyes frantically moving.

Tommy pumped the last shell into the gun. “Ya know,” he said, looking down at the wounded bird. “Flowers.” He placed the end of the barrel close to the bird’s feathered head. “I think I’ll send the flowers,” he said, as he pulled the trigger. The bird’s head blew up, and the wings stopped moving.

---

The horn sounded, and the workers switched off their machines. Within seconds, the chugging, cutting, and chopping sounds faded into silence. The absolute quiet would continue for fifteen minutes, which was the length of the afternoon break.

Tommy removed his goggles and walked toward the men’s room. He stopped short, went to the pay phone, lifted the receiver, and dropped a quarter in the coin slot. He dialed the number of the town’s only flower shop, which he had memorized earlier.

“Webber’s Flowers. May I help you?”

“Hi there,” said Tommy. He’d been in a good mood since Jesse had given him this great idea. “Who’s this? Mrs. Webber?”

“Yes, it is.”

“This is Tommy Ray, out at the factory. I want to order a dozen roses. Make ’em red, I guess, and deliver them to Kate Jenkins over at the diner. Got that?”

“I sure do. You would like a dozen red roses for Kate at the diner. And how would you like to pay for this, Tommy?”

“I’ll stop by after work, around four, and pay you cash. But make sure you deliver the flowers before three. Kate gets off at three on Mondays.”

“What would you like written on the card?”

Damn, he hadn’t thought about the card. “Uh, let’s see. How about, ‘No hard feelings,’ and sign it ‘Tommy.’”

“We’ll take care of it, and thank-you.”

Tommy hung up the phone and grinned. “That should solve the problem,” he said softly to himself. He shoved open the bathroom door and went in.

Chapter 6

Kate was taking Fred and Marsh Rockland’s order when the flowers arrived.

“Kate, these are for you,” said Mrs. Webber.

“For me?” Her mouth dropped open. “Ah, well, would you put them over on the counter, please?”

“Sure. The card’s inside.”

Kate shrugged toward Mr. and Mrs. Rockland, but finished taking their order.

Who would send her flowers? Her father had sent some last year, but that had been for her birthday. She walked up to the long, white box. Then her eyes narrowed. It couldn’t be, she thought. She pulled off the top and drew a breath when she saw the dozen beautiful, long-stemmed, red roses. “I pray these aren’t from…” she trailed off as she opened the card. As she read, her shoulders slumped.

“Who are they from, Kate?” asked Mrs. Rockland. Kate turned and found Mr. and Mrs. Rockland, four other customers, and the cook all curiously watching her.

“Well?” asked Joe, the cook, wiping his hands on his dirty apron.

“No one,” she said simply, as she scooped up the box and walked across the room. She stuffed the box through the swinging door of the trashcan. It wouldn’t fit all the way inside, and about six inches stuck out. The staff and customers around her had witnessed, with mouths agape, what she had done. Kate hurried over to Joe. “Here.” She pushed the Rockland’s order at him. He just stood there for a few seconds looking at her. “Well, take it. We’ve got customers to serve, don’t we?”

“Uh, yeah, sure.” He took their order and disappeared into the kitchen.

Kate went behind the counter and over to the coffeemaker. She bit her lower lip, thinking, as she made a fresh pot. She couldn’t believe he had sent the flowers. Too late. If only he’d started trying to be nice years ago. She shook her head as she placed the pot under the coffee machine.

---

Tommy started his truck and pulled out of the factory parking lot. He smiled as he flipped on the radio and listened to a Led Zeppelin song. Why had he been worried about this situation with Kate? The flowers would patch things up with her, and life would get back to normal.

He remembered their high school days, which had ended four years ago. Tommy and Kate had been
the
couple their senior year. Tommy remembered being respected, practically worshiped even, by his classmates. When he wasn’t throwing touchdown passes, he was leading pep rallies. He had never been good at public speaking and had hated that class in school, but yelling “we’re going to kick their ass!” and pumping his fist in front of hundreds of students in the school gymnasium had made him feel like a god as the cheers rained down on him.

The beautiful cheerleader, Kate, and the handsome star quarterback, Tommy. Life was perfect back then.

But then they had graduated.

Tommy had been recruited by a medium-sized university located in the mountains of North Carolina. He had gone for a recruiting visit and had toured the campus with two pretty coeds, one blonde and one brunette. But he had wondered if he could succeed as a college quarterback, or, what had worried him the most, would he fail as a college student? He had hated studying, taking tests, and doing reports in high school. He usually got someone else to do his homework. How could he handle college classes? Yeah, he had heard that athletes were cut some slack when it came to class work. But what if they expected him to perform well on the field and in the classroom?

He had also thought about what it would be like to be one of thousands of students rather than a hero in a small high school with friends he’d grown up with and where he knew everyone. What if he didn’t do well as quarterback and rarely got a chance to play? He would be just another student, and a poor one at that.

Finally, he’d decided to just stay in Michaeltown. He was comfortable there. He had Kate, and he was guaranteed a job at the factory. He figured that he and Kate would get married and have a couple of boys and maybe a girl. They’d continue their perfect life as adults. But why hadn’t he asked her to marry him yet? Had he taken her for granted too long, figuring he had plenty of time? Whom else would she marry? He was the only one in town good enough for her. Once he fixed their latest problem, he needed to remedy the situation by popping the question.

His thoughts shifted to the other night and the scene outside the bar Why had he hit Kate? That had been a really stupid move. Thinking back on it, he remembered feeling like he had left his body and was watching some stranger slapping Kate. Maybe if she didn’t piss him off so badly, he wouldn’t have to hit her! He’d had similar feelings a lot lately. It felt like road rage that could happen anywhere, anytime. A few weeks earlier, he’d been waiting in line at a store and some old lady ahead of him took forever to dig through her purse trying to find exactly eighty-eight cents to give the cashier. Tommy had had to force himself to control the urge to just push her aside, or to yell out “just give him a damn dollar, you old hag!” If she had taken another few seconds, he didn’t know if he could have controlled himself. This seemed to be happening to him more and more often lately. His temper could snap at any moment.

But, hopefully, Kate would forgive him. Things would be right again. He pledged that he would control himself next time.

He pulled into a parking spot near the flower shop and went in to pay.

At 4:15, Tommy pushed open the front door of the diner and swaggered in. He saw Joe standing near the swinging kitchen door. When Joe saw him, he quickly turned to go in the back.

“Hey, Joe, wait,” called Tommy. Joe stopped and turned toward him, but avoided eye contact. Tommy glanced at Kathy, the waitress now on duty, and walked over to Joe. He was smiling. “Did Kat
e
” he cut off his sentence when Joe’s eyes dropped toward the floor. “What’s wrong?” asked Tommy.

Joe said nothing. He just motioned with his head toward the front of the diner.

Tommy’s eyes followed the movement and saw the box hanging out of the waste basket. His smile disappeared immediately. Stepping over to the trash can, he pried open the end of the box. When he saw a red rosebud, he froze facing the wall for several seconds while trying to compose his rage. He felt a dozen sets of eyes burning into his back. They had all probably heard about Kate’s breaking up with him and had seen what she’d done with his flowers.

Tommy turned, kept his eyes down, and stomped angrily out of the diner.

Chapter 7

The gas gauge had dropped below a quarter, so Zack started looking for an exit with a gas station. A green freeway sign read “Dayton, 15 miles.”
He got off at the next exit and pulled into a gas station.

He had been putting together his plan along the way and had decided to search for a job as he headed south, then maybe west, through Texas, and if nothing came up by then, he might head to California. As a last resort before starvation set in, he could always visit the local military recruiting office. “It’s not a job; it’s an adventure
,”
kept flashing through his mind. That’s one adventure he preferred not to experience unless he had no other choice.

Thistrip was like a vacation, although it couldn’t be called a real vacation; it was more like a desperate search for survival. He remembered the last time he’d taken time off from work, when his father had died more than a year-and-a-half earlier. As he pumped gas, his mind drifted back to that tri
p


On that cold February day, he had gotten word that his old man had died of head injuries after falling, drunk as usual, down a flight of stairs. Zack had always expected a massive heart attack, liver failure, or lung cancer to take out the old lush, although tripping and falling down the stairs did seem quite appropriate when Zack thought about it.

Because he had never felt close to his dad, he considered skipping the funeral. Then he learned that his mother was taking the death really hard; he remembered the phone call from some doctor, telling him that his mother had slipped into what the doctor called a mild depression. After seeing her and talking with her a few days later, Zack thought “mild” didn’t begin to describe her condition. He finally decided that attending the funeral was his duty as his mother’s son. Also, maybe he had felt a little guilty for his ill feelings toward his dad. Then he decided, screw his dad, he’d only go for his mom’s benefit. If the old man were alive, Zack wouldn’t be able to stand being in the same room with him, but as a dead man, he wouldn’t be so bad.

The funeral home had been depressing. Very few “friends” had come to pay their respects, and he could tell that even family members would rather not have come, but they were paying their respects to Zack’s mother, not his dead old man.

The eulogy had been short, given by Zack’s only sibling, his older sister, Carrie. A fresh blanket of snow from the previous night had covered the graveyard, and Zack remembered the icy wind that had cut through him as he weaved through the maze of hundreds of headstones, which all seemed to be different shapes and sizes, on his way to the gravesite. He had wondered if it was possible to dig in these conditions. He guessed that they could penetrate the frozen earth with a backhoe, unlike the old days when they used shovels.

The graveside ceremony had been less than eventful until his mother broke down and sobbed as the casket was lowered. Zack and his sister had to hold her arms and lead her back to the car while she tried to fight them off.

Over the next few days, Zack dialed his mom’s number a dozen times, but the only answer was ring after ring after ring. When she finally did answer on the third day, she only babbled like a child, making little or no sense at all. Frustrated, he finally decided to take a one-week vacation and head for the house where he grew up to be with his ailing mother. The drive north to Madison Heights from his southern Detroit suburb of Southgate took two hours instead of the usual forty-five minutes, because of the heavy snow that had fallen during the night.