"A Murder In Milburn", Book 1: Death At A Diner (2 page)

The goon with the gun now pointed at Harvey’s face, gave a little growl. “Did you hear me, then?”

Harvey, who had heard him perfectly well, made no reply as he thought things over. His 2 o’clock sessions were a legend among his staff, and Harvey swore by them. He’d begun the tradition eight years ago, at 23, when he’d dropped out of college. Harvey was almost superstitious about the process, as if his 20 million dollar empire were dependent on the one hour he spent each day with only himself, his creativity and a piece of paper. It was a simple process – he’d lock himself in a room with a pen, a moleskin notebook, and a single key question. He wouldn’t leave until his brain had created at least eleven solutions. Why eleven? It had just seemed like a good number. Today, he’d asked himself how he could double his cash flow in the next five years, and he’d been on solution no. 3 when the goon walked in.

“Boss wants to meet you,” the man said, pointing his Glock 9mm at Harvey’s temple.

“Well, Boss has got to learn that what one wants, what one needs and what one gets are all separate entities,” Harvey quipped, glaring at the pen and paper in front of him. “Now get on out of here. I’m too busy for your boss and his tantrums.”

A gun was usually all the goon needed to assume command of a situation. Harvey’s nonchalance infuriated him. He raised his gun and shot at the hanged painting on the wall behind Harvey’s desk. Harvey ducked as it came crashing down.

“What on earth are you doing?” he demanded. “That was a good painting.”

“Pay attention,” the man shouted. “I’m not kidding around over here. The boss wants to see you, so you better come with me.”

At the sound of the shot, Harvey’s door flew open for the second time that afternoon. His secretary Ashley flew in, then backpedalled and screamed when she saw the goon.

The gunman pointed his weapon at her and put a finger to his lips. “One word and I’ll put a few in you,” he said, menace in his voice.

Ashley, a thin blonde with hair that was neatly piled up into a bun, and a baby bump just visible under her sensible cardigan, put a hand to her mouth to stifle a scream. She nodded at the gunman, her eyes filling with tears.

The gunman was ready to turn back to Harvey when he felt a jackhammer punch to his jaw. His face twisted into three planes, rather like a Picasso portrait, and his body tumbled unconscious to the floor.

“That’s going to sting tomorrow,” Harvey commented, turning his fist this way and that to observe it. His expression still was only vaguely irritated.

Ashley, from the door, began to have hysterics. “Oh, Harvey! Harvey!” Ashley screamed. “Oh, it’s horrible!” She had curled up by the door and had her arms wrapped around herself as she sobbed.

“I know. I know. I’m sorry you had to see this. Let’s just tie this gentleman up.” Harvey tied a belt around the man’s wrists, looked around for something else, and settled for a USB cord to tie the man’s legs. “There,” he said, straightening up, and pulling down his suit. “Now we can call the cops. You all right, Ashley?”

“I’m somewhere north of All right, and into “distinctly not All right” territory,” his secretary replied.

“I’m sorry again,” Harvey said. “Why don’t you take the day off?”

“A day!” exclaimed Ashley, “I want a week! Harvey, that man could have killed us both.”

“Him?” Harvey snorted and nudged the still unconscious man with his toe. “Not a chance. Here, have some water.”

He handed her a glass, and noted that the water remained steady as she held it – her hands weren’t shaking at all. He smiled at her as she sipped. “You’re a brave lady, Ashley. Not a tremor from you.”

She waved him away. “I still want a week off.”

“All right. You want me to call Jeremy to come pick you up?”

She rolled her eyes at her husband’s name. “Jeremy isn’t in town today,” she said. “I’ll call him later. I’ll drive myself home, after we speak to the sheriff.”

Harvey sighed. “I suppose I have to deal with the sheriff eventually,” he said. “All right. Let’s do this.”

*****

Chapter 3

“Sheriff Dracon, you’re nothing less than a white knight,” Mrs. Mullally said. The sweet old lady, with a curly head full of white cotton hair, smiled broadly at the sweating man in front of her.

“Oh, it was nothing,” Sean said with a smile as he handed her the puppy. The little tyke had somehow slipped into the crawlspace of Mrs. Mullally’s Cape Cod style house, and been whimpering for two hours, but had refused to come out, no matter how much she’d begged him.

Sean had ripped open a few boards, lowered his lean, muscular frame down much as he could, and then brought the puppy out with one powerful hand. His forehead was beaded with sweat, and his outfit was dusty. He ignored it all and put his cowboy hat back on his head. “My pleasure, ma’am.”

Squealing with happiness at being back out, the tiny Siberian Husky/Labrador mix wiggled its entire body out of Mrs. Mullally’s arms and jumped down to play tag with the sheriff’s legs.

“Look at that, Maynard likes you,” she said. “I’ve always thought dogs were the best judge of men.”

“He’s adorable,” the sheriff said, bending down to play. “Still, if I let him play too long, my Luna will get jealous when I go home.”

“What breed is she?” Mrs. Mullally asked.

“I’ve been asking myself that since I picked her up at the pound three years ago,” Sean said with a smile.
 

“One of the only mysteries you haven’t solved, then,” Mrs. Mullally said. “Come right into the house, will you? My tenant’s made some Venison Shepherd’s Pie, and it’s come right out of the oven just now. I’ve got some lovely rhubarb iced tea to go with it too.”

“I couldn’t possibly,” Sean said, even though he’d begun salivating at the thought. His current plans for lunch involved a very sad tuna salad sandwich and a slightly wilting pack of lettuce. It was 3 pm, and he was starving, but had been putting off the meal.

“Oh, I know you, Sean. You’ve probably had nothing but coffee all day.”

“Not true,” Sean said. He’d had coffee and a protein bar.

“What you need,” Mrs. Mullally said, “is a woman to feed you and look after you.”

“Well, I’ve been after you to marry me for a long time,” Sean teased. “But you break my heart each time.”

Mrs. Mullally, who wasn’t a day younger than 80, blushed red. “Sean Dracon, you young rascal, I’ve known you since you were pint sized. Go on, now. Sit yourself down and have at it.” They entered through her yellow and white tiled kitchen with a handsome wooden floor, and Mrs. Mullally smiled, taking time to caress a new potted plant that stood at one of the window ledges, tiny sprouts peeking out of it.

“That’s new,” Sean commented.

“Oh, Nora’s decided to grow her own herbs,” Mrs. Mullally said. “She’s actually been asking me to rent her the garden so that she can start her own vegetable patch too.”

“What’d you say to that?” Sean asked, half interested, as he sat down at the kitchen island. Mrs. Mullally took out a steaming dish from the oven, set it down next to him, then placed a delicate china plate with blue flowers dotting its edges down in front of him. “I told her,
Nora, you better not be getting any fancy ideas
,” Mrs. Mullally said.

“Oh, please!” Nora entered the kitchen from the dining room. “She told me to help myself to all her land if I liked, just as long as I let her eat the vegetables too.” She gave Mrs. Mullally a hug and waved to her to sit down.

Sean, whose hat was resting on the counter beside him, got up as soon as she walked in.

“Sheriff,” Nora said, her smile dimming a little.

“Nora.” He gave her a small nod.

Behind Nora, Raquel walked in too. Bounced in, more like. She was skipping and holding up a dress – a pale blue thing with a yellow border and a lace collar.

“Our new designs are here!” she said in a sing-song voice. “Look at that Mrs. Mullally!”

“Oh, they’re pretty!” Mrs. Mullally exclaimed. “Well done, girls.”

“Is this for Madness?” The Sheriff asked.

“You’ll come to our opening night, won’t you, Sheriff?” Raquel asked, leaning at the counter, looking up at him with her big blue eyes.

Nora was rummaging inside the fridge. She brought out a large jug filled to the brim with a pink liquid and clinking with ice cubes. She set out four glasses, then tore leaves off the potted mint plant at the window. Crushing a few in each glass, she poured the pink liquid over them and handed a glass each to everyone gathered around.
 

“I’ve heard there’s karaoke,” Sean asked. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“There’s karaoke, yes,” Raquel said, “but also, there’s
Nora
.” She put both hands around Nora’s shoulders and thrust her forth. Giggling, she added, “What I mean is, you wouldn’t want to miss her food for the world.”

“Oh, quit it, Raquel, the only reason anyone’s going to walk in is to see you belt out Shania Twain in style,” Nora said, giving Raquel a gentle nudge and a wide grin.

“You make this pie?” Sean asked Nora.

There was a sea change in her, he noted, when he asked her a direct question. The open ease with which she had leaned against Raquel changed into a defensive hunch. She nodded, mumbled, “Hope you enjoy it,” and bent down to pat Maynard.

She was a quiet one,
Sheriff thought. He always got a sense she was scared around him. He wondered what it was that scared her more – him or his badge.

He spooned up the pie and bit in, making sure he got all the layers of cheese, mashed potato and meat. In his mouth, a symphony began. He shut his eyes to truly appreciate it, inhaled the wonderful scent of meat and cheese, and then took another bite. A hint of cinnamon, somewhere in the meat, and the spice of jalapeño hit his tongue. The cheddar cheese clung to the potatoes, adding a tang to his palate. He’d have scalded the roof of his mouth if he hadn’t made himself slow down.

“Look at that,” Mrs. Mullally said. “Sheriff’s on a different planet.”

Nora, who’d been playing, looked up and a huge smile spread across her face.

“This,” Sheriff said, punctuating each word with a bite and swallow, “Is. Delicious.”

“Savor it, Sheriff,” Raquel laughed. “Next time you eat some, you got to pay for it.”

“I’ll pay for it now, I’m sure,” he said, patting his stomach. “This has got to be a calorie bomb.”

“Oh, you and your calories,” Mrs. Mullally clucked. “In my day, we ate what we ate and didn’t think twice about it. None of this calorie business. We stayed healthy as horses too.”

Sean wanted to reply but was cut short by the crackle of his radio. “Sheriff. We got a 187 over on Willow and Main, number 14.”

“That’s Harvey Nathaniel’s office, isn’t it?” Mrs. Mullally asked. “What’s that boy up to now?”

But the Sheriff, with a curt nod to them all, had already put on his hat and headed out.

*****

Chapter 4

The Sheriff had the handcuffed man seated in the back of his squad car. He had a flip board with a form on it and was looking carefully neutral as Ashley spoke to him.

“So he barges into the office, demanding to see Harvey. Next thing I know, I hear a shot, and then the man threatened to shoot me! I screamed so loud all of Main Street must have heard me.” She mopped her brow dramatically, flipping her bangs out of the way. “My condition being what it is, all this stress is terrible for me!”

“I’m sure it is,” Sean said. “Anyone call Jeremy over for you?”

“He’s out of town,” she said. “Attending one of his silly sales conferences. I told him he’d make a lot more money if he focused on online sales, but he loves the old-fashioned hustle. Left me all alone in my condition, can you imagine?”
 

Sean wisely said nothing, knowing better than to get into a discussion about lazy husbands and their ever-suffering wives. “Two months along, are you?” he asked.

“Just about,” she said. “We’re both so excited.” She caught sight of the gunman and shook her head. “Well, I’m glad Harvey knocked him out, that’s for sure.”

“Harvey engaged in a physical fight with him?” Sheriff asked, noting it down.

“I knocked him out when he turned his gun on Ashley,” Harvey said. He was hardly paying attention to the questioning. Sean frowned. A normal man would have been a little upset about being held at gunpoint in his own office. Harvey shrugged it off like a rocket-ship shrugging off gravity. He was sitting on the sofa, tapping away on his computer, and occasionally looking up to speak to the sheriff or Ashley.

“You’re remarkably calm,” Sean noted.

“You know Harvey, sheriff,” Ashley said. “He could be going bankrupt tomorrow, and he’d treat it with a yawn. The only time I’ve ever seen him nervous was when he was asking the new girl out.”

“I think the sheriff wants to focus on the crime, Ashley,” Harvey said, his voice mild.

“The perp is Javier Lugo. He’s one of Santino’s men,” Sean said, his voice equally mild. “Wouldn’t know anything about that, would you Harvey?”

“Santino? Never heard of him,” Harvey said.

“You’ve done business with him.” Sean tapped his pencil on the flip board.