The Price of Beauty in Strawberry Land (14 page)

“Leroy, Carson here.
 
Larry told me you were looking for me.”

“Yes, thanks for calling me back.
 
No big deal, but I wanted to ask you about someone who was at the party Friday night.”

“Sure, who?”

“Charlotte Luckey.
 
Did you see her at the party?
 
Can you add any information?”

“Information?
 
About what?
 
Yes, I saw her at the party – who didn’t?
 
She is pretty hard to miss.
 
You know what I mean?”

“Yes I do.
 
Anyway, her mother started calling here on Saturday saying she never came home after the party.
 
She hasn’t stopped calling and has called almost every hour since then.
 
There isn’t much we can do, but I thought I would at least talk with you and see what you might have observed.”

“Leroy, this girl is shacked up with somebody – probably that rich boyfriend and she’ll come home when she gets good and damn ready.
 
Why waste your time with this?”

“I know, I know – but the mother keeps insisting something is wrong.
 
We found her car parked at Bailey Park, but nothing suspicious.
 
Her boyfriend, Phillip Chaney, flew his plane out on Saturday – after spending the night somewhere in Jackson.
 
We are just trying to do our job – I’m sure she will show up – hangover and all.
 
Is there anything from the party that we should know?”

I shared with Leroy the events of Friday night surrounding Charlotte Luckey.

“Do you need me to do anything here – in Memphis?” I asked.

“Nope.
 
Just covering our bases – I’ll call you when she shows up.”

I hung up, went back to the bar and got very drunk.
 
I drove the elevator home sometime before midnight.

The Missing File

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
F
rom the Peabody parking garage I headed straight for the kitchen. It was early – 11 o’clock.
 
 
Having an office at the Peabody allowed me to eat in the employee dining room – usually for free.
 
Their large kitchen prepared food for the various hotel restaurants, room service and contracted catering.
 
That meant there was always food left over and it was free to employees and tenants.
 

The bacon, eggs, toast and coffee were a real relief to my aching head.
 
Food, along with a couple of aspirin, almost made me feel like a human being again.

I let Marcie know I was back in town and then quickly went through my mail and messages.
 
There was nothing interesting. Several calls from Monica, calls from Leroy and a call from Bernie Taylor – that call had come in Saturday.
 
I assumed this to be a home number and I returned the call – no answer.

I would call Monica later, but wanted to see what I could learn at the Commercial Appeal before I made that call.

I told Marcie I would be back in an hour and headed over to their office – it was just a short walk.

I was going to need all my charm, so I took it out and put it on before walking up to the reception desk.
 

Greeting me was a pretty, but somehow plain young lady.
 
Her dark hair was pinned to one side with a silly looking clip and her blouse was buttoned all the way to her chin.
 
Underneath her ‘too much’ makeup and lipstick, I assumed you would find an aspiring newspaper reporter who has ended up answering the phone and handling visitors.
 
Her nametag read ‘Peggy’.

“Hi Peggy.
 
My name is Carson Reno,” I said as I handed her my card.

“I remember you Mr. Reno – you were here the other day looking for Mr. Watson Clark.”

“Right!
 
I can’t believe you remember me – you must see so many people.”

“Yes, but you left me your card then too.
 
See, I still have it.” She showed me both my cards. A very efficient receptionist.

“Peggy, I am working on a case and I wonder if you could help me?”

“Is it about Mr. Clark and his wife?
 
Them being murdered?” She seemed sad.

“Yes, it is.
 
Would you like to help?”

“Sure, but what can I do?
 
I just answer the phone, greet visitors and distribute the mail.
 
I really liked Mr. Clark and would do anything, but I can’t imagine what I could possibly tell you.”

“Is there an employee break area or cafeteria where we might talk – and can you get away for 15 or 20 minutes?”

“Sure.
 
Follow that hall and then through the large double doors – that is our cafeteria.
 
Grab a table and I’ll join you in a few minutes,” she instructed.

I got some coffee and was scanning today’s paper when Peggy came into the cafeteria.
 
She also got coffee and joined me.

“Peggy, I am looking for some papers that Watson would have had that he didn’t want anybody else to see.
 
Do you have any idea where I could look?
 
Old files, undelivered mail, dead story files – anything?”

“Nope. Whatever there might have been has already been destroyed, reassigned or stolen.”

“Stolen?
 
What do you mean stolen?”

“A few weeks ago we had a robbery – which is really strange.
 
This building is always open – we print papers around the clock.
 
But someone broke into the office area and went through a lot of files – especially those files in Watson’s office.
 
After that, the editor reassigned all his work and cleared out his office.
 
There is nothing left.”

“No undelivered mail, deal letter files nothing?” I was coming up empty.

“Nothing.
 
Nothing except maybe that courier who was trying to deliver a registered package. He’s been here on several occasions looking for Mr. Clark. When I tell him he no longer works here, he just leaves.
 
Could that mean something?”

“Yes it could.
 
Do you remember the name of the courier service?”
 
Bingo – I had something!

“I believe it was called Chase Courier Service.
 
We use several, but I think that was the name.
 
And Mr. Reno – guess what?”

“What?”

“He was here again on Saturday – the same day we learned about Mr. Clark’s murder!’

I thanked Peggy and promised to let her know what happened.
 
I couldn’t get out of there and back to my office fast enough.

I entered the Peabody lobby by the Union Avenue East door – I didn’t get very far.
 
Standing in front of my office door was Bubba Knight, and that was one person I really did not want to see.
 
I turned around and ran smack into Bobby James.

“Hi Carson, long time no see.” He had his hand inside his coat.

“I know Bobby, my apology. I’ve been meaning to get together with you and Bubba to catch up on old times, but haven’t found the chance.”

By that time Bubba had joined our little party and I was surrounded – if that’s possible.

Bubba spoke. “Carson, is there some place we can talk?”

“Yes – right here in the lobby.
 
I like public places – don’t you?”

Bobby’s turn. “Suit yourself.
 
We are here to deliver a message and we don’t deliver messages but once – so listen closely. Up until now you haven’t given us any reason to pay you a visit.
 
Up until now you’ve kept your nose out of our business and tended to your lonely housewives with unfaithful husbands. But word on the street is that you are branching out – that isn’t a good idea.
 
If you want to keep doing your little ‘marriage counseling’ detective business, while still using both legs, you will put that snooping nose back where it belongs.
 
Am I understood?”

“Bobby – I am so proud of you.
 
When did you learn to put that many words together all at one time?
 
You’ve been taking night classes – right?”

Bubba’s turn. “Carson, that mouth of yours is going to get you in a lot of trouble.

“Bubba, you need to take some lessons from you friend Bobby – he’s going back to school to enhance his education.
 
He’s able to put more than 10 words together at one time – which is a definite improvement.
 
And speaking of improvement – I understand you both have been promoted.
 
The B and B boys are steadily moving up the corporate ladder of crime.
 
Congratulations.”

Bubba was ready to throw a punch but Bobby stopped him.

Bobby’s turn. “Ok, smart ass.
 
You’ve been warned – and we don’t deliver messages twice.
 
Our next visit won’t be public and it won’t be nice.”

“Thank you guys for stopping by this morning.
 
If you’ll let me know ahead of time, I can arrange coffee or maybe some drinks and snacks.
 
Stop by whenever you’re out of jail – we’ll do lunch.”
 
I was walking away quickly and, happily, still in one piece.
 
They left through the door I had used, and disappeared down Union Ave.

I stopped by Marcie’s desk to get the phone book.

“Were those two guys friends of yours?” she asked.

“No – but why do you ask?”

“They’ve been hanging around here all morning.
 
I asked to help, but they said they didn’t need any help.
 
I didn’t like them – they weren’t nice.”

“Marcie, you are a good judge of character – they are not nice guys.”

I took the phone book to my office and quickly looked up the number for Chase Couriers. A cordial young female voice answered on the second ring.

“Chase Couriers –
‘we mean business’
.
 
This is Theresa speaking – how may I help you?”

“Theresa, my name is Carson Reno and you can help me by answering a couple of questions. Can you do that?”

“I don’t know.
 
You’ll need to ask the questions first – I’ll certainly try,” she was sincere.

“What happens when you have a certified delivery, with signature required, and you can’t deliver that item?”

“Mr. Reno, it depends on why we can’t deliver.
 
If the person refuses to sign, we will return the item to the sender.
 
If the person isn’t available, we leave a number for them to call and schedule a delivery.
 
If we make 4 attempts without delivery, we return the item to the sender.
 
Is that what you want to know?”

“Yes.
 
I have another question. What would happen if you were unable to return the item to the original sender?”

“Well, Mr. Reno – that would be unusual.
 
Why would they not accept the return?
 
After all, it is their item.”

“Suppose the original sender was dead when you attempted to return the item?”

“Oh my!
 
I don’t know.
 
I suppose we would continue to try to deliver to the original receiver – I guess.
 
Actually I really don’t know the answer to that question.”