“That was the second guy, the twin, but he didn’t remember me or Richard’s accident. How could anybody forget an accident like that?”
“They couldn’t. Go on,” Myles said, cell phone in hand.
“Now that I think about it, I don’t remember seeing the scar on his hand either. Scars don’t just disappear.”
“No, they don’t.”
“I’ve been lifting weights lately and that box was heavy as hell,” Stump said, talking faster. “I think I helped the second brother and his girlfriend throw away the biker’s body. Considering the death of Ms. Johnson and that woman’s comments about twins and motorcycles, I’m pretty sure of it.”
Myles punched at the face of his cell. “That’s a darn good string of circumstantial evidence. I’m calling the detective who’s been on that case. If they can find that crate at the landfill, that biker’s body should be in there.”
Stump grinned. “Tell them the girlfriend drives a black SUV and I know her license plate number.”
Myles beamed and shot Stump a respectful “thumbs up.”
Chapter Eighty-Nine
A chilly drizzle washed Miranda’s face as she stuffed the computer behind the passenger’s seat of her SUV, which was packed to the rim with anything of value that might later be pawned. Exhausted from having pulled an all-nighter, she wiped her forehead on the back of her arm. All that was left to retrieve was a final armload of clothes and a thermos of coffee that would last until Phoenix.
Inside, she peed one last time, washed up and looked at her watch again. Six-thirty. Pre-rush hour. She grabbed the last stack of clothes, all pantsuits, and flicked off the switches on the way out.
Outdoors, Don was behind the garage. A hint of daylight glistened off Mac’s motorcycle, which still lay on its side. A lightning bolt flashed in the distance and a deep belch of thunder followed. She piled her things on top of the computer, closed the door and started her SUV. She buckled up and adjusted her rear-view mirror just as a dark sedan pulled into the driveway behind her.
She watched as a mature man and a younger woman swiftly approached her SUV. The fellow came up on the driver’s side, while the woman went the other way. Possibly cops. Adrenalin began to swirl inside her. Her eyes flashed toward the garage. Don wasn’t coming. She was on her own. She dropped one hand to her stomach and lowered her window. “Can I help you?” It sounded stupid.
“Yes ma’am,” the fellow said, flashing a badge, just as two other police cars and a white pick-up pulled to her curb. “I’m Sergeant Byrdswain. Palmdale Police Department. That’s Detective Sanchez. We have to ask you some questions. Can we step inside?”
Freaked out and fingers shaking, Miranda sneaked another peek out back but there was no sign of Don. Maybe they wouldn’t find him. “I’d rather not. I already locked up,” she said, trying to keep her voice from quivering.
The sergeant held up a folded sheet of paper. “It’s a search warrant, ma’am. I’m afraid you don’t have any choice.” This was looking really, really bad. She began to breathe deeply.
Detective Sanchez whispered something to Byrdswain, then motioned for two uniformed officers by the street to join him, while she remained outdoors.
Inside, Byrdswain gazed around. “Anybody else in here?” he asked Miranda.
“We’re alone,” she replied, her throat dry, thickened from rapid breathing.
He gestured toward a love seat. “Have a seat right there, ma’am.” He stood in front of her and motioned for the officers to search the home. “You know why we’re here, don’t you?”
“No, why?” she said softly, while she stuffed trembling fingers under her thighs.
“Alright. Let me make this a little easier on you.” His eyes pierced hers. “We have a witness who says he saw your vehicle in town, behind the convenience store at a trash container.”
“There are lots of vehicles like mine.”
“True, but the witness said there were two people there —one of them was a woman who matches your description. He said he helped them load a big wooden box into the dumpster.”
Her heart pounded in her chest with all the force of a freight train. “Well, it wasn’t me. It’s just a coincidence.”
“Don’t think so.” Byrdswain pulled a small notebook out of his pocket, opened it and showed a page to Miranda. “See, right here. He got your license plate number.”
Her stomach tightened, but she didn’t move.
“You’ll never guess what he suspected.”
A powerful thunderclap rumbled overhead, as if to warn her to remain silent.
“He thought there might have been a murder. He was a pretty smart young man so we thought we’d better check it out. It took a while but the people at the landfill found the wooden box, ma’am, just like the witness suspected. We knew that victim. His name was Mac Evans. My partner threw up when she saw what happened to that poor man’s face.”
For the first time since Miranda hit Mac, her mind flashed to an image of his mangled skull. Her hands flew to her mouth and she nearly barfed.
“We checked with the post office and found out Mr. Evans had just filed a change of address to this location. We know his death relates to another one, that of the assistant principal at the high school. Might have something to do with the death of a doctor, too. If so, we’ll find the connection before too long. Do I need to go on, ma’am?”
Busted, Miranda lowered her head and sobbed. “No.”
“The only other thing we don’t know is the whereabouts of your other partner. Mr. Evans’s twin – the ex-con?”
Just then Detective Sanchez entered the home, damp from the drizzle. “He’s behind the garage, Sergeant, in a brand-new grave, covered with manure.” Sanchez turned to Miranda. “That’s him, isn’t it?”
Chapter Ninety
After Detective Sanchez’s discovery, she read Miranda her rights. Then the detectives spoke privately while two uniformed cops guarded Miranda. When done, Byrdswain spoke to Miranda. “My partner’s going to take it from here. If I were you, I’d pay close attention to what she has to say.”
Miranda lifted her head. The young detective could have passed for a teenager.
Detective Sanchez waited until Byrdswain was outside to speak. “We know this wasn’t your idea. Your boyfriend was a fast talker and you were in love. I know how that can be. I had a boyfriend like that in college.”
Miranda sighed. “I loved both of them.”
“That happens sometimes.”
“Mac didn’t know about Don, but Don suffered more because he knew what Mac and I were up to. I should have known better. The world will be a better place without any of us.”
“You left a lot of destruction behind. Not just your lovers, but Rachel Johnson and her grandmother.”
“Yeah, I’m really sorry about her. Mac was, too. He said she was a very charming and trusting woman.” Miranda shook her head. “I can’t believe I let Don talk me into killing anybody.”
Sanchez leaned forward. “Nobody deserves to be treated like that, especially frail seniors, but I’m going to let you in on a secret. We want to give that woman full closure and help her get her money back as quickly as possible, so after you get booked and get an attorney, if you’ll help us make that easy for her I might be able to do something for you.”
Miranda looked in the young detective’s eyes. “What could you possibly do for me? I’m going to be behind bars the rest of my life.”
“But which bars? There’s a big difference between Valley State Prison and Central California Women’s Facility. It’s newer, less crowded, not many gang members, more things to do. In this case, sooner is better for everybody. It’s up to you.”
Miranda lowered her hand to her stomach. “Will they let me keep my baby?”
Sanchez’s back straightened. She stared at Miranda. “You’re pregnant?”
“Just found out yesterday, I don’t know which one is the father.”
Sanchez held out a steady hand. ??
?I’m sorry, but prison is no place for babies. Do you have somebody else who can raise the baby?”
Miranda shook her head. “Not really, but Mickey would have made a wonderful uncle.”
* * *
Considering Stump played a key role in breaking the case and that Myles was a detective who knew the workings of an investigation, Byrdswain had allowed them to go along for the arrest.
After what seemed like an entire school year the sergeant came outside and indicated to Myles and Stump that he’d be right back. He went behind the garage for a few minutes before he approached Myles’s side of the truck.
“Stump was right,” Byrdswain said. “Looks like a two-fer,” Brydswain said. He flipped a thumb toward the garage. “A second one’s out back—in a crude grave.”
“Can we go back there?” Stump asked with the same glee as a kid who was about to go on his first adult ride at Disneyland.
Myles shook his head as Byrdswain gave the answer. “The county boys have to take the body out of here and do an investigation before we do anything else.” He held up a small plastic bag. “This case is still unfolding. Got two engagement rings in here.”
“Did the woman confess?” Myles asked.
“Pretty much. My partner’s wrapping it up with her now.”
Just then the house door opened and Detective Sanchez led the woman Stump had seen at the convenience store parking lot, now handcuffed, to the first cop car and helped her get into the back seat. Sanchez gave a thumb’s up to Byrdswain, who tipped his head in return. “I can tell you one thing,” he said turning to Myles. “Some of these young people are pretty impressive.” He pointed at Stump. “That includes this one. He’d make a good detective some day.”
“That’s my son,” Myles said. “I couldn’t be prouder.”
A peaceful warmth filled Stump. A biological dad couldn’t be any better than this.
Chapter Ninety-One
Over the weeks that followed the arrest, Miranda Munchak revealed the entire story in exchange for being sent to Central California Women’s Facility. All of the relevant parties including Myles and Stump were advised of the outcome.
After hearing what happened to Stump’s mom, Ms. Johnson’s grandmother wanted to meet the young man who had been through as much as she had, yet ultimately proved that her granddaughter didn’t commit suicide after all. A buffet dinner was scheduled in Stump’s honor. Everybody agreed to keep the event upbeat and not to dwell on either death.
When the evening came, Stump was the most relaxed he’d been in weeks. Just blocks from the elderly woman’s home, Stump leaned forward. “Ironic isn’t it, Myles?”
Myles glanced his way. “What’s that?”
“A while back, all I wanted was for my mom to help me find my dad, but instead she introduced me to you. Now you’re my dad. I like that, because I always knew whoever my dad was, he would be somebody special.”
Myles grinned, tuned the corner. “Thanks, Stumpster. You’re pretty special, too.”
When they arrived, they were told to refer to the grandmother as Granny. They were introduced to a handful of Granny’s friends, along with Anderson Powell, an elderly reporter from the local newspaper, and Powell’s photographer.
Myles and Stump were seated next to Mr. Powell and an old-fashioned tape recorder. Within seconds, various people probed Stump for the details of how he solved the case. Did he have any help? Did his dad really do it and just give him the credit? What did he learn from the experience? But, thankfully nobody asked about his mom.
Finally Powell asked a question of his own. “I understand you memorized the bad guys’ license plates before you knew anything about them. Is that right?”
Stump shook his head. “I don’t really memorize them, but sometimes I see patterns or messages. That plate was prime.”
“Prime for what?” Powell asked.
“Just prime. It was a zero followed by REO and then the number one hundred seven.”
“What’s so special about that?”
“Easy. When you see zero and REO together it looks like Oreo. Everybody likes Oreos. They’re sorta prime cookies.”
“Is that it? Cookies?”
“Not all of it. One hundred seven is the first three-digit prime number that is also a prime number when you read it backwards. So when you turn it around you get seven hundred one. Either way, you get a prime number. Once you group those two ‘prime’ things together,” he said, making air quotes, “you couldn’t forget it if you wanted to.”
“What the heck is a prime number?” Granny’s next-door neighbor asked. “I know we talked about them when I was in school but that was sixty years ago.”
Stump smiled. “It’s a whole number that is only divisible by the number one and itself.”
“Huh? That’s still too complicated for this old gal. Thank goodness I still know what Oreos are. Do we have any of those?”
Everybody laughed and then Granny spoke. “You know something, Stump. You remind me of Pappy. He was always good with numbers and puzzles too.” Stump blushed. It was nice to be near-normal again.
Eventually they ate their dinner and coffee was served, after which Granny tapped a spoon on a glass. “Can I have everybody’s attention please? I have something I want to say.” She took a plain white envelope out of a nearby hutch. “I want you all to know I am so grateful to young Stump here, I have decided to give him a reward.”
What? Stump glanced at Myles, who smiled while a smattering of applause sounded.
“There’s a check in this envelope for three percent of the trust money that my husband and I once earmarked for our precious granddaughter, Rachel.”
More cheers and applause wafted as Stump nervously accepted the envelope. “Really?”
“Yes, really. Open it,” Granny said. “It’s all yours. You deserve it.”
Stump’s hand trembled slightly as he smiled and opened the envelope slowly like he would a birthday card from his mom that might contain a five-dollar bill. He reached in and pulled out a pristine cashier’s check in the incredible sum of $338,459.22. He jumped up. “Fantastic.” Then he handed it to Myles and rushed toward his elderly benefactor. Granny welcomed the hug from the boy she knew had gone through a similar hell to her own.
“Pass it around the room,” Granny said to Myles, “so everybody can see it.” There was an endless chain of “ooh’s” and “aah’s” as Stump’s check circled the room.
Finally, Powell asked, “What are you going to do with all that money?”
Stump looked at Myles, who was grinning as much as Stump was. “Well, first I want to buy my own laptop. Then some video games, and my own phone, maybe a big screen TV and some weights.”
“What about college?” Myles asked in a mood-killing, fatherly tone.
“He’s right,” Anderson Powell added. “A young fellow like you is certainly college material.”
Stump cocked his head and placed a finger to his chin. “I know. I’ll set half of it aside for college, but I want to use the rest to make a doggie park and name it after both Ms. Johnson and my mom. I want to put in lots of lilac bushes because they were my mom’s favorite flowers.”
Myles patted Stump on the back and the guests indicated their approval with still more applause. Several women were shocked that Stump knew which flower was his mother’s favorite, let alone that he wanted to do something unselfish with the money.
Granny had tears in her eyes when she clinked the glass again. “A park like that,” she said to Stump, “is going to cost a lot of money, maybe even more than your check. I’ve got a vacant lot on the edge of town. I’ve never done anything with it. I will give that to you too, and that can be your park. All you have to do is finish it off the way you want. And you’ll still have enough left over for college someday.”
There was a standing ovation and for one incredible moment, the Stumpster was back.
About the Author
Like most Americans I liked my
career of several decades but I have to admit that I didn’t always approach the mornings with wild enthusiasm.
But then, I retired and discovered something I never would have guessed: When the day is mine, I love to get up even earlier. Now I’m the guy who wakes up the rooster. I still work as much as I ever did, only I now work on things that bring me a different form of compensation. Like writing books.
Some have asked me where I get my ideas, but it’s no mystery. I had a storied youth with six sisters and a wild family. When I wasn’t engulfed in that world, I spent a fair amount of my time wandering the alleys and streets of our neighborhood. A fellow learns a lot from all of those people even before he arrives for his first day of school. If he has the ability to recall the characters and the activities in which they engaged, and blend that with a dash of make-believe, there’s a goldmine full of fodder from which to draw his inspiration.
Books by this Author
NON-FICTION
Instant Experience for Real Estate Agents (Multiple Award Winner)
Stop Flushing Your Money Down the Drain (Multiple Award Winner)
FICTION
Three Deadly Twins (Now Available on Amazon)
Monday’s Revenge (To be Released Winter 2015)
Grandma’s BFF Does Coke (This one is beginning to boil)
Zero Degree Murder (Zero is dying to get off the back burner)
All books available in paperback or ebooks
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