Harold's Been Found If He Was Ever Lost

Harold and Callie, his Sweety, were missing. I had been completely cleared of any part in the murder of Harold's late wife. In fact I was engaged to help the Sheriff solve the case. And solving it was of great importance to me because it was the STUFF of new novel. 

                                                                         Part 21

At half past seven the banging at my front door jarred me from sleep.  Sleep badly needed since I was up most of the night plotting possible scenarios of this story.

After Jennifer's hardly breathing between the words of her report on Callie Everson’s demise I said, “I know.”

“How the hell would you feel if you went out of your way to share this critical news? Only to find out it is not news.” Jennifer said to me clad only in a wrap around towel. “And how the shit did you know?”

“Sheriff Marlings told me yesterday.”

“And you didn’t feel you should share that?”

“Jennifer, get a grip. I was going to call you later today. How did you find out?”

“Jake got it from Mike last night.”

“Any word on Harold?”

“Not that I know. But then you might since you do seem to know more than I do.” The hostility of her tone equaled that of her fiery eyes.

“Jen—I can call you Jen?”

“You may not,” she snapped. “My close friends call me that. Jennifer will do just fine for you.”

I could see she was not about to thaw. “Jennifer,” I said. “It’s not like I was keeping anything a secret. I just found out for Christ’s sake. Give me a fucking break.”

She burst out in laughter. “I’m sorry, but this whole thing is getting to me.”

It was my turn to laugh. “It’s getting to you. In case you haven’t been paying attention it me—not you – who’s being suspected of murder.”

“Was being suspected, not is,” she said looking at her watch. “God I have to get to work. Ok if Jake and I come by tonight?”

I spent the morning arranging and rearranging known facts into one possible plot after another. At noon Sheriff Marlings called, “Harold’s been found.”

“At his parent’s house no doubt.”

“Yep. How did you know?”

“Only possible place. If he’s guilty of something running away just makes him look more guilty. If he’s innocent why would he run away?”

“Makes sense. Any other ideas?”

“If I were in charge I’d be looking into Sweety Pie’s other romantic interests.”

His laughter seemed unusually raucous. “Being done as we speak.”

"Keep me in formed,” I said.

New Developments

Harold and his sweetie had disappeared from  the area. No one seemd to know where. Or Noone was willing to say.

                                                                 Part 20

I was not in great need of money. My books had sold well, and I could easily go without income for a few years. My desire to write a new book was born of my need to be productive. As I looked at to date my two efforts at writing were feeble.  I could hear my father’s scolding lectures from the time I started school. “Talking about what you are going to do is a piss poor substitution for doing it.”

Sometimes doing things was also piss poor. Like the two books I started—neither going anywhere. If I had an iota of sense I would leave this – What did I call it yesterday when I was talking to Jake?  The asshole of the civil world. I could leave now that I was no longer a murder suspect. I think I could.

I called the police station. “Mike Marlings. Please”

“Who’s calling?”

“Conrad Murdock.”

“Just a minute. I’ll see if he’s available.”

Or is willing to talk to me, I thought and realized I was paranoid. I waited  and waited and waited. Just as I was about to hang up Mike Marling’s voice came on. “Connie, what’s up?”

“Wondering if it’s ok for me to on for me to leave?”

“For how long?”

“Forever.”  Silence.  I continued, “I thought you had eliminated me as a suspect.”

“That’s right. But I thought you had agreed to help solve this.” Silence. “You did agree, didn’t you?”

“I guess I did. But for the life of me I don’t know what more I can offer.”

“We have develpoments.”

“Developments. What developments?”

“Can you come by headquarters? I’ll fill you in.”

“On what?”

“On what’s new. This afternoon. Say around 2. Can you make it?”

At 2 I was settled in Mike’s office. At 2:05 he came in. “Mr, Marlings,” I said.

“Mike. Now Connie—I can call you Connie?” I nodded. “Well Connie, the developments. This is not for general knowledge yet. I’m sure you’ll be prudent. That includes Jen and Jake.” I nodded. “Well we have a second murder. Harold’s other woman.”

“Sweety Pie?”

“If you mean Callie Everson. Yes. Can’t say   I have heard her called that.”  He laughed. “Jen’s name for her. Right?” I nodded. “Sounds like Jen.”

“She said Harold and Sweety Pie had gone missing.”

“They had. Now only Harold’s missing. Callie’s been found. Dead. And not from natural causes.” He tapped his desk top with his pen. “Interesting.  Wouldn’t you say? Harold’s two women—both carrying his babies- are dead.” His lips spread; his eyes fastened on me. “Still want to leave?” 

Harold and His Sweetie Have Vanished

                                                                 Part 19

“No question about it, Jackie.  I am in one hell of a mess.” I said into the phone. “Unless this is cleared up I can’t get on with my writing. What do you want me to do? Just make up stuff?”

“Great Gods, how creative of you,” she said. “Stuff. And just what is stuff?” Silence. Silence. I was ready to hang up when she said, “And yes I think you should make up stuff.” She emphasized stuff. “Connie, that’s what you do.”

“But this is real and I’m in the middle of it.”

“I thought they excluded you as a suspect. They did, didn’t they?”

“Depends on who they are. Two friends and the sheriff. The rest of the rubes around here. To them I’m likely guilty as sin.”

“Then I suggest you get the Hell out of that god-forsaken place. Back to home. Back to normal people.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Then—my god, Connie. You are a writer. You write. So write. Either solve this yokel-hokel mystery or make it up. But write. I’ll check in next week. And mark my words. You better be working.” She hung up before I could respond.

I was still staring at the phone when it rang—making me jump—in body and mind. “Hello,” I said trying to modulate my quivering voice.

“Connie, that you? You sound funny. Jake here.”

“Yeah Jake. What’s up?”

“Got news for you. Not over the phone. Can you meet me for lunch? Harry’s hotdog stand. You know where it is. 12:15. I only have forty five minutes.”

At a corner table away from other patrons Jake and I sat with our hotdogs and beer. “Things are hopping,” Jake said with a mouth full of hotdog.

"Things.  Like what things?” I nibbled at the dry hotdog on the stale bun.

“Relax. You look like you’re ready to pop.”

“No kidding. Why I ever came here is a question I may never be able to answer. Here in the ass-hole of the civil world.”

Jake’s laughter attracted universal attention. Silence fell on the noisy crows. All eyes were on us. In lowered voice Jake said, “”Asshole of the world or not. Right now it’s yours. And—“  He held up a halt hand to stop me from interrupting. “Right now we have to solve this. And there’s news. That’s why I called you.”

“Oh,” I said with as much sarcasm as I could muster. “There’s news. What is it? Somebody confess to this murder?”

“Harold is gone.”

“Gone where?”

“Nobody knows. His little sweetie is gone too.”

“I thought she was already gone.”

“From here. Yeah, but now it seems she’s gone from the face of the earth, at the same time that Harold is.”

                                

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