A visit to the municipal (from the Book Club Murders)

Beth parked the car as close as she could to the front door of the municipal liquor store.  It was cold and she didn't want to experience the frigid air for any longer than she had to.  They exited the car and Damien followed her through the front door of the muni.  A blast of warm air greeted them as they entered the building and strolled to the bar and deposited themselves on a couple of stools.  Damien rubbed his hands together like he was trying to start a fire to keep warm.
A tall, beanpole of a man behind the bar quickly came over and asked what they needed.
They both ordered a non-caffeinated coke.  When Damien got his wallet out to pay, Beth stopped him.
"I've got this," she said.  Damien smiled as he returned his wallet to his back pocket.  The bar tender brought the drinks and scooped up the cash.  He returned about a minute later with the change.
"Say, what can you tell us about the murder last night?" Beth began.
"Are you the police?"
"Uh, no.  We're private investigators hired by friends of Laura," Damien answered.
The beanpole cocked his head a little and then said, "I guess it can't hurt.  I don't know much though, just what I hear in the bar."
"So tell us what you've heard," Beth said politely.
"Like I said.  It's not much.  People stop in, ask questions, say things.  They're all searching for answers, like you two.  I keep my ears open, but everything I've heard is just all speculation.  The people that stop in here tend to think it's the old guy that goes around collecting cans.  He's out and about all hours of the day and night, always peeping in windows, doorways.  He rummages in our trash and picks out all the cans.  We do our own recycling here and tell him to get the hell away whenever we catch him, but sometimes he's able to sneak in, get what he wants, and sneak out.  It's hard to watch for him all the time.  Besides, we don't make much off the stuff anyway.  At least somebody can crank out a living and clean up the environment at the same time, I guess."
"What do you think?" Damian asked.
"You mean about who did it?
"Yeah," Damien answered.
"Well I don't think it was the old guy.  He's just a harmless old man.  Anyway, I didn't even mention him to the police, but I imagine someone else has by now.  I really have no idea, probably an outsider."
"Did you know Laura?"
"She stopped in here every Tuesday night after work I guess.  She and a couple of other women would come in and always sit at that corner table right over there."  He pointed to a hightop, round table big enough for five or six people to sit around comfortably.  Damien gazed toward the table, observing three, older men dressed in parkas and wool stocking caps drinking Guinness Stouts.  They were talking quietly and nodding toward Beth.  They stopped looking and busied themselves when they noticed Damien watching them.
"Think they know anything?" Damien asked the bar tender.
The bar tender looked in the direction of the old men at the corner table.  "You mean them?"
"Yeah."
"I doubt it, but you never know."
Beth said, "Let's find out."  Damien admired this woman so much.  She was smart, confident, and strong.  She got up with Damien following and walked over to the three old guys who were trying mightily not to notice the two as they were approaching.
Beth stood with her hands on the back of the only empty chair around the table with Damien beside her.  The three old guys looked over at the same time.
"Do you mind if we join you?" Beth asked.
"Looks like you'll need another chair for Junior," said Earl, the oldest of the three.  The other two chuckled.  Damian grimaced a little, but swung around to the adjoining table and slid a chair next to Beth's.  They both sat down.
"Could I buy you a drink, Miss?"
"You could, but I won't be needing one, sir."  They introduced themselves and began asking questions.  The old guys didn't appear to know anything about the murder, but came alive when the questioning came around to Gerald Hodges.

More investigation writings from "The Book Club Murders"

Beth's hand wasn't out of her coat pocket to knock, when the door opened and Meghan Stroutmeier greeted them.  They stated who they were and what they did, and then asked if Meghan would answer questions about Laura Walter's murder last night.  The 72 year old widow of Arnold Stroutmeier told them she would help out as much as she could and invited them in to her living room, leading them to a beautiful leather sofa, which felt much too cool to the touch when they sat on it.
"Would you like some coffee or tea before we begin," Meghan asked.  "I don't get very many visitors so I'd love to make you some."  Damien started to decline, but Beth interrupted him.
"Coffee would be great.  Just black would be fine with me."
Meghan looked inquiringly at Damien who nodded his head yes and told her black with cream and sugar if she had it.
"Of course I have it; that's the way I drink it," she said pleasantly.  "You're a brave girl for taking it straight, ah, I'm sorry, what was your name again?"
"Beth Reddy and this is Damien George."
"Oh yes, that's right.  I have never done a good job of listening to names.  I should have remembered yours though, sir.  It's unusual to have two first names like that."  Damien shrugged as if to say, what can I do?
In a couple of minutes Mrs. Stroutmeir returned with three cups of coffee perched on a metal tray that looked as if it came from a nursing home.  She first served Beth and Damien, then herself, returning to a wooden rocking chair opposite the visitors.  After a little chit chat regarding background information that Mrs. Stroutmeir requested from them, Beth questioned her about the murder last night.
"So, please tell us what you know, if anything, about what happened last night."
"I can only tell you what I told the policemen last night, and then the sheriff who came this morning.  It's not much.  First of all, I have to tell you that I'm a bit of a night owl because I have trouble sleeping at night.  I watch a lot of TV, specifically HGTV.  I love that show Love It or List It.  Last night they were following an older hippie couple from Greenwich Village who told the designer...I can't remember her name...Oh, Jillian.  She used to be on the Bachelor show.  She's from Canada, you know.  She has a cute little accent, hey."  She waited for a reaction that didn't come.  "Well, anyway, I digress.  Last night I was watching that show and I guess it was around 10:30 when I got a little restless and started walking around the house.  I do that sometimes at night.  I happened to look outside, as I often do, and I saw what I thought was a person laying on the sidewalk.  I thought to myself that it's awfully cold to be out there...maybe the person slipped and knocked themselves out, so I put my coat and boots on to go help.  That's when I found out it was Laura.  I saw all the blood on the snow, and her head, her head was a mess, all caved in like that.  I, I didn't know what to do.  She was obviously dead, so I rushed back into the house, taking care not to slip on the ice, and call the police.  I did that and not long after, the police came with their lights flashing and knocked on my door.  Oh I tell you I didn't get much sleep last night at all.  Poor Laura.  I didn't think she had slipped and fallen.  There was too much blood and her skull wouldn't get crushed like that from just a fall.  I knew she was murdered right away.  I tell you I've lived here for forty-six years and there's never been a killing in this town, never."  She stopped talking and just stared at the two of them.
Knowing the answer, already, Damien asked it anyway, "And you didn't see anybody around who might have done this?"
"Not a soul," she said forcefully.

A snippet from the investigation in "The Book Club Murders"

It was five o'clock in the afternoon so they were hoping that Mr. Hodges was home for supper.  They were not disappointed.  He came to the door dressed amazingly well for a person of little means.  He wore Docker pants, Gucci shoes, and a Ralph Lauren long sleeved dress shirt.  Pleasantly surprised at his appearance, Beth and Damien accepted his invitation to enter and were guided to the meticulously restored kitchen table and chairs.  Countertops were cleared and wiped.  The floor was sparkling.  Dishes were put away.  By all their observations, Mr. Hodges was a very neat man.
A copy of Tolstoy's War and Peace, lay on the table, with a book mark sticking out near the end.  After looking around the kitchen, Beth and Damien assumed a couple of chairs.
"So, you said you'd like to interrogate me in the matter of Laura Walter's death," he began a little testily.
"Not interrogate, Mr. Hodges, just ask if you happened to notice anything different the night of the murder," Beth quickly responded.  Hodges smiled.
"Would you believe you are the first to visit and ask anything?  The police or sheriff never bothered with me.  I gather they assumed that an old vagrant such as myself, would be of no use to them."  He bent his head a little as his face pondered his own statement.  "And I suppose they would be correct...in most instances."  Their interest heightened when he said the last part of the statement, like he had wanted. "Please join me in a cup of tea," he said as he instantly rose to fetch the tea pot.  Damien protested that they had just had two cups of coffee and needed no more liquids, but was waved off by Hodges, who busied himself preparing his most precious drink.
Following a few minutes of chit chat with his back to his guests, Mr. Hodges returned to the table with his favorite tea.  Sugar cubes were optional.  Beth and Damien accepted the cups and thanked him.
Stirring his sugar cube in his tea with a passion, Damien stopped for a moment and asked the first question.  "So, Mr. Hodges, exactly what do you know about the murder?  You hinted that you knew something."
"I simply said that the police would be correct in most instances that an old person like myself would have nothing useful to report to them."
It had been a long day and Beth let out a frustrated sigh before saying, "Mr. Hodges, we're not here to play games.  Laura Walters was a friend of mine and if you have any information about her death, you should share it with us and the police.  If you really have nothing, please don't waste our time."
Mr. Hodges beamed as he said, "My dear, I assure you that I am not playing games.  I may have something for you, but then again, I may not."  Damien placed his tea cup on the table.
"More games.  Beth, I think we should chalk this up to an old man who wants some attention, go back into town, and stop at the Municipal to see if anyone knows something there."
"My boy, that won't do you any good.  Interview a bunch of drunks who play pull tabs all day and all night long?"  Hodges sipped his tea as he eyed them both.
"All right, Mr. Hodges, then tell us what you mean," Beth retorted.
"Well, the information I have may be of use to you, but that is for you to determine.  I cannot do that for you, nor should I.  I travel around town every day and venture out onto the county roads and ditches in my never ending quest for treasure, uh, aluminum cans, if you prefer.  I may see things most people do not.  My mind is not encumbered by work, relationships, or petty jealousies of anything or anyone, so I remember things that I've seen.  I am focused."  He picked up his tea cup and daintily enjoyed another sip of his tea.

More about Claude from "The Book Club Murders"

Claude finished cleansing and drying off his body.  He had taken thirty minutes to accomplish both tasks.  He dreaded opening the door and still finding her in his bed, but  little choice was left to him.  Turning the light off first, he cracked the bathroom door slightly.  His eyes slowly adjusted to the darkened room revealing an empty bed with it's coverings cast aside.
  A flicker of hope that she was gone flashed through his mind and his eyes brightened as he contemplated the possibility.  Opening the door fully, he ventured into the room, looking carefully in every direction as he walked toward the ruffled bed.
The bedroom door was ajar.  He had closed it when he went to bed, but of course she had opened it when she entered later.  It was obvious to him that she was nowhere in the bedroom, so she was either in the living room or gone.  Moving cautiously, he passed through the partially opened doorway, entering the living room with some trepidation.  A creak in the flooring greeted him as he stepped into the opening.  Freezing in his tracks the instant he heard the sound, his eyes scanned the dark interior of the outer room.  A sigh of relief escaped him as he realized she was not in his apartment anymore.
Claude quickly moved to the entrance door and make sure it was locked.  It wasn't.  He turned the lock and this time, hooking the safety chain to the jam, he fully secured it.  Now he could breathe easier.
He flipped on a lamp light and pulled a notebook from a drawer in the desk.  He scrawled the words sloppily onto the paper, change locks tomorrow.  He would make sure that she never gained entrance to his apartment again.
Sleep appeared to be a commodity he wouldn't achieve tonight as he drifted into thoughts of how in the hell he had ever met and befriended Kristen, though he was sure that was not her real name.
They had first met at a bar on the outskirts of Rochester.  He thought the name was Whiskey Creek, but he couldn't be sure.  He, along with friends had frequented several drinking establishments that evening and he really couldn't be sure which place he had met "Kristen".  Once they had hooked up his friends had left him, believing that he would be involved for the evening, which he was.
"Kristen" was quite pretty, maybe a little older than he, and certainly as tall as he was.  She laughed easily and appeared to be very interested in him.  It was an easy pick up.  The more he thought about it, however, the easy pickup had been him, not the other way around.  It was like she had chosen him and he gratefully acquiesced.
They had ended up at his apartment where she practically tore his clothing from his body.  It was as if she had a thirst for him that could not be satisfied.  During their first weeks he totally enjoyed being her object of lust and obsession.
They saw each other on a weekly basis for two months.  As he came to know and expect what she was going to do to him, the red flags began standing out a little more clearly.  They didn't make love; it was animal sex with no kissing or foreplay.  Her demeanor was always calculated and the conversation was nonexistent, far different from the first night he had been picked up by her.
He began pulling away and not answering her calls.  A real fear within him had begun to take hold.  The feeling that crept up his spine couldn't be explained by just one experience or comment that she said or didn't say.  It was just...a feeling.  A general feeling that something was not right with her; that she was an unusually damaged human being who was fighting demons that she would never understand.  He cringed when he thought of her and what she might be capable of doing.  Tomorrow, tomorrow the lock would be changed; he would make sure of that, for he wanted nothing to do with her ever again.