Death Makes the Front Page (Lizzie Crenshaw Mysteries)

  Death Makes the Front Page

  A Novella by

  Teresa Watson

  Death Makes the Front Page

  A Lizzie Crenshaw Mystery

  By Teresa Watson

  Copyright 2012 Teresa L. Watson

  This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Obviously, my family and friends have not found a good treatment center for demented writers yet, so I have been free to write another story with another fantastic support group.

  First, a thank you to Kristi Spinks and Lonnie Wolgamott for playing hours of Words with Friends, which allowed me to bounce story ideas off them. I used an idea from each of them in the story.

  To my beta readers: Lonnie, Kristi, Mom, and April Denton. Thank you for the hours you spent painstakingly reading each line and pointing out the not so obvious things I missed. You all made the story better for my wonderful readers!

  To Jamie Lee Scott, who again designed a fantastic cover, and who took precious time away from her writing and film projects to help format my book. You have been a God send, and have become a good friend. Thank you so much for everything!

  To Bente Gallagher: you are so busy with all your writing, yet you always take the time to listen when I need to rant, or I just need to bounce ideas around. Thank you very much! It means a lot to me.

  To my son, who despite having final exams to finish, listened to me read each chapter and made his own suggestions (sorry there are no explosions in this one, son, maybe the next one!). I love you very much!

  To my parents, who have always encouraged me to chase my dreams, no matter how goofy they were. Thank you for all the love and support. I love you both very much!

  To the Dotters group on Facebook: once again, you have been my biggest cheering section! I hope you all enjoy this one as much as you did the last one! Keep throwing your ideas out there. I do listen and I do use some of them!

  Dedication

  Years ago, I wrote an ongoing story for an online group that I belonged to. I based the characters on the people I chatted with. One of the people in this group was Gene Hohnholz; his counterpart in the story is Sheriff Owen Greene. Gene was a fun-loving guy who always made me laugh. I never had the pleasure of meeting him in person, but we became friends from the hours we spent talking. He always encouraged me to take my writing to the next level and to publish it. He was very happy for me when I told him I was publishing Death of a Cantankerous Old Coot last year.

  Gene passed away November 29, 2011 after battling a series of health issues. His death has left a empty place not only in my heart, but in the hearts of his family and friends. This book is dedicated to him. We all miss you, Gene. God bless.

  Books in the Lizzie Crenshaw Mysteries series:

  Death of a Cantankerous old Coot – published November 2011

  Death Makes the Front Page – published June 2012

  Death Stalks the Law – coming soon!

  Death Makes the Front Page

  Prologue

  Tuesday afternoon

  The man looked around nervously. He had met his clients in some unusual places, but he had never had a meeting in a cemetery before.

  He wasn’t sure why he felt uncomfortable. It’s not like anyone was going to talk about what was going to happen here. He thought about his wife, waiting for him to finish his business so he could spend more time at home with her. Looking at the freshly dug hole a few feet away, he wished he was any place but here.

  A rustling sound to his left caused him to turn. “About time you got here,” he said, pushing his cap up a little. “May I ask why we are meeting here?”

  The other person snorted. “How many people do you know that come voluntarily to a cemetery?

  “No one in his right mind, that’s for sure,” the man replied. “It’s just a bit creepy.”

  “Afraid of the boogeyman?”

  “Let’s just get this over with.”

  “Do you have any new information for me?”

  The man reached into his jacket pocket and produced what looked like a small, silver pen. “Just plug it into the USB port on your computer.”

  “I know how it works. Did you learn anything from the newspaper guy?”

  “Not really. The guys at the home office think they have a lead, though.”

  “What part of the country are they focusing on this time?”

  “Pacific Northwest, near the Canadian border.”

  “Bit far from home, isn’t it?”

  “Our subject has been known to do the unpredictable.”

  “I’ll let you know if I hear anything from my end.”

  “A lot of people are going to be upset when this hits the fan,” the man said.

  “I can’t worry about that. I have a job to do.”

  “Just make sure no personal entanglements get in the way of that job.”

  “Never have before.”

  The man watched the contact leave, shaking his head. Another rustling sound made him turn around. “What are you doing here?”

  A whistling sound, followed by a loud thunk as the shovel made contact with the side of the man’s head was the only response he got. He stumbled backwards a few feet, and fell backwards into the hole. The shovel landed next to him, and retreating footsteps were the last thing he ever heard before everything went black.

  Chapter 1

  Tuesday morning, 10 hours earlier

  “Purple?”

  “Nope.”

  “Neon Blue.”

  “Nope.”

  “Yellow.”

  “Nope.”

  “What color can you paint it?”

  “Pistachio green.”

  “Hank, that’s the color it is now!”

  “I know that, Miz Lizzie,” Hank Turner said. “Amos was the only person who ever asked me to paint his truck, and he always painted it the same color.”

  “I know, I know, pistachio green,” I sighed. Even from beyond the grave, Amos Gardner, my deceased grandfather, was being a pain in my behind. “If I request a color, would you order it for me?”

  Hank nodded. “Sure can.”

  “Then why didn’t you tell me that in the first place?”

  “Cuz you didn’t ask me that. You just asked me what colors I had in stock,” he said, pulling out an order form.

  I filled it out. “How much do I owe you?”

  “You can pay me when the job is done.”

  Thanking him, I buttoned up my black jean jacket, slung my satchel onto my shoulder and left. It was a cold January day in North Texas, which made me very glad I had an indoor job at the newspaper. Yes, you read that right. I took a job at the one place I was told by my college professor I wasn’t cut out to do. Luckily for me, Dale Gordon, the newspaper editor, saw my potential after the articles I wrote about my late grandfather’s murder, and hired me.

  Speaking of which, I should update you on the trial proceedings. Earline, Amos’ widow and co-con
spirator in his murder, spent a month in the hospital prison ward, recovering from her injuries. The list of charges brought against her included murder, conspiracy to commit murder, willful destruction of property (for burning down the Gardner house, which was listed on the National Registry of Historical Places), and a whole bunch of minor charges that had eventually been dropped. I didn’t understand all the legal mumbo jumbo that was involved. Her lawyer filed a motion with the court, claiming that Earline had been a battered wife, and therefore had been forced to kill Amos to save her life. Anita Cardiff, the county prosecutor, said that there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in you know where of that working, considering that Earline, her best friend Barbara, and Debra, Amos and Barbara’s daughter, planned the murder for months.

  As for Debra, no one had seen her since her car crashed into the trees. Speculation around town was she had escaped, but died of her injuries somewhere else. The only problem with that theory was no one had found her body. Considering the woman, who was unfortunately my aunt, had threatened to kill me, I really wanted them to find her dead.

  I pulled my keys out of my jacket and headed for my car. Glancing toward the park, I did a double take when I saw my boss arguing with a man near the merry-go-round. Dale’s arms were waving around in the air as he paced back and forth. The man shook his head at whatever Dale said, which caused Dale’s eyes to bulge. I had seen that look many times before: the eyes always bulged right before he began yelling. Dale had been diagnosed with high blood pressure a month ago. I didn’t want to see him stroke out in the middle of the park, so I decided to intervene. “Dale!” I called out as I rushed across the street.

  He turned his head in my direction, which gave the other man the perfect opportunity to punch Dale in the stomach.

  Picking up speed, I tackled the man, knocking the wind out of him, and banging my knee on the ground as we fell. “Dale, are you okay?”

  Gasping for air, he nodded. I looked down at the guy I was sitting on. “What’s the idea hitting him when he wasn’t looking?

  “It was the best way to shut him up so he would listen to me.”

  I could understand how he felt. There were times I wanted to punch Dale so I could get a word in edgewise, but that was beside the point.

  “Get off me, young lady. You’re crushing my ribs.”

  I felt insulted for a minute, since it sounded like he was insinuating I weighed too much. “No more punching?”

  “On my word of honor as a gentleman, I will not punch him anymore.”

  Dale snorted. “Gentleman, my…”

  I glared at him before getting up. Holding out my hand, I helped the man to his feet. “You two want to tell me what’s going on?” They looked at each other and said nothing. “Okay, let’s start at the beginning. Who are you?”

  “He’s just a…business associate,” Dale said. “No one you need to worry about.”

  “If he’s going to go around punching my boss, I’m going to worry.”

  “I’m Oliver Coogan, ma’am,” the man said, take off his blue ball cap and offering his hand. “I’m an old friend of Dale’s from high school. We work together on occasion.”

  “Lizzie Crenshaw,” I said, shaking his hand.

  “Okay, you can go now, Lizzie,” Dale said dismissively. “Oliver and I have some things to finish up. Don’t you have a story to write? You have a deadline this afternoon.”

  I reached into my satchel and pulled out a manila folder. “All done. I was on my way to the office to drop it off.”

  Dale snatched it out of my hand. “Now you don’t have to bother. I’ll talk to you later.”

  Oliver looked at his watch. “I’m afraid I have another appointment. We can get together for dinner, Dale, and finish our business.” He put his hat on. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Ms. Crenshaw. Nice tackle, by the way.”

  I watched him walk off before turning back to Dale, who held up his hand to cut me off before I could say anything. “Don’t even ask, Crenshaw. It’s none of your damn business.” He hurried over to his car, got in, and drove off. I had a lot of questions I wanted to ask him. Oh well, he couldn’t run forever. I’d catch up to him soon enough.

  Chapter 2

  I met T.J. Reynolds for lunch at the Eat It or Starve Café. While we hadn’t officially said we were an exclusive item, everyone in town knew how many dates we had been on. After our tenth one, the gossip queens declared us a couple. Even my mother seemed to agree with this assessment. I had a feeling she was hoarding a pile of bridal magazines in a closet at home.

  “What are you thinking so hard about?” T.J. said.

  I felt my face turn red. There was no way I was going to tell him about the gossip or my fears that my mother was picking out wedding gowns with big butt bows. “I had a weird run in with Dale Gordon.”

  He looked at me for a moment, one eyebrow slightly arched. “Uh huh,” he replied. I had a feeling he knew exactly what I had been thinking about, but it was evident he was going to let it go for now. “Tell me about it.”

  I told him what I had seen and heard. “I think there was more going on than either one of them are going to admit.”

  “Did you actually tackle the guy?” I nodded. “Where did you learn to do that?”

  “I was a tomboy growing up. I played a lot of football, and the guys I played with didn’t like flag football.

  “She’s right,” Sheriff Owen Greene said as he sat down at our table. “I don’t remember hearing her complain about all the tackles the boys made on her.”

  T.J. held up his hand. “I get the picture.”

  “From what I have heard in the last hour, you still like to tackle first and ask questions later,” Owen laughed.

  I looked startled. “Has Mr. Coogan filed charges?”

  “No, he hasn’t. I have received calls from half the owners in the town square, mostly about your rather unladylike behavior.”

  I groaned. “Which means they have already called my mother and told her.”

  “Most likely.”

  “You said it was a weird run-in, Lizzie. What makes you say that?” T.J. asked.

  Taking a bite of my cheeseburger, I thought about it. “I’m not sure. Maybe the guy is a source.”

  “Has Dale been working on a story?” Owen said, snatching a fry from my plate.

  “Not that I’m aware of, but it’s possible. Since I’ve been there, all I’ve ever seen him do is boss everyone around. He has a computer in his office, but I get the impression he doesn’t know how to use it, because he is always asking the rest of us to look things up for him.”

  “I know for a fact that Dale had breakfast with that guy this morning,” Maddie, the owner of the café, said as she brought Owen his own burger and fries. “Back there in the corner booth. Upset poor old Homer Green because they were sitting in his regular booth.”

  “Did you hear what they were talking about?” T.J. said.

  She shook her head. “Every time I got close, they shut up. But I did notice Dale was taking a lot of notes in one of those pads he always carries around.”

  “So the guy is a source. Makes me wonder what he’s working on.”

  “Why don’t you just go into his office and ask him?” Owen replied, squirting ketchup all over his fries.

  “Because he already told me that what he was doing was none of my business.”

  “I don’t know if he is working on a story or not,” Maddie said, “but they were having one very intense conversation.”

  “I think this new job of yours has sent your imagination into overdrive,” T.J. said. “Why don’t you just let it go? Dale already told you to butt out.”

  “Why don’t you go ask him some questions?” I countered. “The guy did assault Dale.”

  “He didn’t press charges,” Owen said, “and you assaulted Mr. Coogan. You’re lucky he didn’t file charges against you.”

  “But I was defending Dale!”

  “It doesn’t matter. The guy attacked Da
le, not you. Unless he wants to press charges against Mr. Coogan, if that is his real name, there is nothing I can do.”

  “You could run a background check on him.”

  “Why?”

  “To make sure Dale isn’t hooked up with some shady character.”

  T.J. shook his head. “You’ve been watching ‘The Sopranos’ again, haven’t you?”

  “I have not!” I said, a little too loudly. People turned and stared at us. “Just check him out, please.”

  “Not my call. You’ll have to talk to the boss,” T.J. replied. He picked up the check and stood up. “I suggest you leave Dale alone for the rest of the day. Knowing him, he’s probably not too happy that you interrupted his meeting.” Leaning over, he gave me a kiss. “You’re still coming over tonight, right?”

  “I’ll be there around six,” I assured him.

  “Bring dessert,” he said as he left.

  “I think it’s just shameful the way young people carry on in public these days,” Gladys Norwell said from the center table. “Obviously, there is something lacking in their upbringing.”

  I rolled my eyes as Maddie brought Owen’s check. “You’re just jealous, Gladys, because Lizzie is getting more action in public than you are in private,” she said.

  Gladys sputtered as everyone in the café laughed. “There are certain things a lady never discusses in public,” she replied.

  “I don’t see why not, Gladys,” Harold, her husband replied, “you talk about everything else in public.”

  “That is quite enough,” she said, cutting him off. “I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t carry on in front of me, Lizzie.”

  “Fine,” I said. “Turn around next time.”

  Gladys’ eyes widened. Grabbing her purse, she stomped out of the café to the sounds of more laughter. Her husband trailed behind, laughing and shaking his head. “Stuck up old cow,” I muttered as she left.

  “So, did Dale at least say thank you after you used Coogan as a tackling dummy?” Owen asked.

  “I didn’t use him as a tackling dummy, and this is Dale we’re talking about here. What do you think he said?”