Category Archives: Murder Mystery

I pulled my car over and parked on the shoulder, took a deep breath, sighed, closed my eyes and rested my head on the steering wheel. I could generally divide cases into three categories, those where I was in control of all the information and had total leverage, those where I was in control of some of the information and had some leverage, and finally those uncomfortable cases where I knew that I was simply a tool of someone else’s agenda. I had been around along enough to know that the first best-case scenario was unlikely and that the middle scenarios were most likely – where there was some push and pull between me, the client and the principle players. I could live with that. In fact, that was frequently how a case became exciting, moving from a walk on part in the ongoing drama to the master manipulator. But I clearly knew that this case was getting out of my control and it felt uncomfortable being toyed with by Goddard and his father. It would take a monumental effort on my part to climb back into a seat of power – to get the leverage to corral Goddard and get Sam to give me a wider berth. Continue reading →

Prior chapters of the murder mystery are filed in the “murder mystery”category in the menu on the right.

We pulled into the expansive circular driveway in tandem. This time the driveway was vacant, and Sam had wisely decided to park the Cadillac Escalade elsewhere. I went over and gave Grimes our usual vertical handshake in a solidarity stance, then taking a half step towards each other to briefly pat each other on the back.  I saw Detective McNitt startle at this sign of familiarity. We didn’t even have a chance to exchange pleasantries when the large oak door opened and Sam Todd stepped out. Continue reading →

Prior chapters can be found in the category “Murder Mystery.”

Chapter 18

I started to make a pile of the green puzzle pieces that looked like the grass and trees, and I noticed that Goddard was doing the same with the sky and cloud pieces.  The puzzle was turning out to be a God send – we could both stare at the puzzle and continue talking without having to stare at each other and any uncomfortable silences could be absorbed by working on the puzzle.  “Well tell me about your mother,” I said softly.

“Yes, the beautiful and elegant Cymbaline Todd.  She might have been many things, but mother wouldn’t be one of them.  She was just not present in my life.  She hated CutterCity, and I can’t imagine why she moved there.  As far as I know, she had two loving and supportive parents, although my grandfather died when she was twelve.  I think that she had a few wild teenage years, but why she decamped to CutterCity is a mystery.  It is a far cry from the Murphy mansion on the beach.  I don’t even know how she met my father.  Have you ever been to CutterCity?  It is pretty grimy.” Continue reading →

Prior chapters of the Clean Plate Club murder mystery can be found in the Murder Mystery category listed on the right.

We walked into the café together with my shoulder propping Goddard up.  Fanny took one look at him and immediately started putting together another ice pack.  Goddard’s head wobbled as he looked up through the lank hair falling across his eyes.  I could feel him sucking it up as he tried to break loose of my support and stand on his own.  “Thank you Mr. Ralph and Ms. Fanny, I remember spending many pleasant hours here during my college days.  Mr. Ralph, as I recall you were my bridge partner, where taught me the Stayman convention and how to finesse.  I appreciate your continued hospitality.  As you can see, I am a bit down on my luck.”  This demonstration of cultured politeness totally sapped his energy and his full weight fell on my shoulder. Continue reading →

Prior chapters of the Clean Plate Club Murder Mystery are filed in the murder mystery category.

I was startled to see that it was already 4:30 PM.  I would have to hustle back to Goddard’s studio to make sure that I had time to find a parking space before our 5 PM appointment.  I pulled out of the parking space and into the traffic streaming out of the University heading down to town for a Saturday night.  The University had instituted very strict rules about underage drinking on campus, and the police blotter report in the local newspaper was always filled with reports of the campus police raiding a fraternity party.  As high minded as this approach was, the result was that students simply got into their cars and headed off campus for their weekend revelries, leaving the relative safety of the campus where students walked from party to party.  Now, overimbibed students would be weaving around town in cars, and the police blotter occasionally reflected the danger of this approach.  I lived at home during my college years, and was typically working weekends – cases with my father always seemed to break on a Saturday – so I missed those years of poor decision-making.   I stopped suddenly to let a bevy of students jay walk in front of my car – several girls draped over a couple of boys who sashayed down the street with beer in hand.  Continue reading →

Thursday, with nothing on my schedule for Friday.  First time in a long time that I wasn’t going to be working a weekend.  So I certainly didn’t want to take Penny’s case, but the referral was from Charles Grimes, my father’s old partner on the force. 

“Hey Liza, I’ve got a case that I think might be right up your line.  It may be nothing, but it could be a juicy missing person’s case, and it involves some of Santa Teresa’s finest, so it might lead to something.  These were the kind of cases your Dad loved.”

“Charles, I have a hair appointment for tomorrow, and after that maybe a massage, and one of my clients gave me a gift certificate for a facial.”

“Now Liza, you are not going all girlie on me now are you?  All those years working with your father you should know to never turn down a case, and I am handing this one to you on a platter.”

I cold hear him tsking in the background, and knew that it was both good natured teasing and also the truth.  I had worked hard to keep the agency going since Dad died, but I had relied too much on his client list, and knew that I had to start developing my own.  Dad was a pro at networking, and knew exactly how to draw the line between a professional acquaintance and a friend.  He often told me that friends don’t hire their friends as  private detectives,  but they didn’t like hiring total strangers either.  They would hire someone who moved in that middle ground of acquaintances that could be trusted but not titillated by deep family secrets.  “I wouldn’t want my best friend to be your mother’s gynecologist, would I Liza?”, he said, “But I do want someone I could trust.  That’s the balance you have to strike.”

Dad always knew how to drive the point home.  I always knew that I had great instincts for the business and that my father often relied on me to see through the complexities of a case, but I hated the networking part of the business, and my roster of clients had slowly dwindled over the past couple of years.  The most lucrative clients were the ones that put you on a retainer, like law firms that needed an investigator from time to time.  But those clients only provided me enough security to pay the rent every month.  It was the ”one-off” cases that were more interesting and more lucrative since you could bill by the hour, and who knows when those types of cases could turn into a retainer arrangement.  

“Okay, Charles, you are right as usual, give me the background details.”

“I have gotten a couple of calls from a young woman named Penny.  She says that she is a student at the University.  Nice sounding kid on the phone, but I haven’t met her in person.  She is worried about her room mate – says she has disappeared and that no one seems to care.  She called the room mate’s parents, but she told me that the parents brushed her off, told her the room mate had taken a leave of absence from the University and was on an artist’s retreat in Mexico.

“George, that doesn’t sound like much.  A college student – no corroboration from the family.  I can see why the police won’t get involved, but this hardly seems to be worth my while either.”

“Okay, normally I would agree, but here is the good part, Liza.  The room mate is Dessa Todd, her father is that developer that caused such a stir last year.  He lives up in that big place up in the canyon, his Skye Isle development.”

“Oh great.  It is one thing to be hired by the Todds, quite another to piss them off by showing up on their doorstep and insisting to them that their daughter is missing.  And this Penny, I can’t imagine that a college student could actually pay me.”

“Liza, just talk to her.  I told you, I liked her over the phone.  Nobody is forcing you to take the case, but it is the “you just never know” about detective work that keeps life interesting.  Here is her number.  I am going out of town for the next week fishing in Montana, no cell phone, no nothing.  I expect you will have finished the case by the time I get back.  I know you love missing persons.”

Charles was mostly right.  I did like missing persons, because usually they were quick and easy – not hard to track someone down these days.  But the real appeal of these cases was why the person went missing, and that was my particular expertise – mucking around deep dark and dysfunctional secrets, often in the decaying infrastructure of the booze-addled and idle rich.  It was satisfying if I recovered lost souls, but more often than not  I just shattered lives in the name of truth – and at the beginning of a case you could never tell which way it was going to fall.  

I initially titled my little murder mystery “The Blue Hammer,” in homage to the Lew Archer detective series written by Ross MacDonald.   However, I will definitely need a title of my own if I continue this exercise. After reading a few more Lew Archer books, I realized that the title need only be tenuously related to the plotline. The Blue Hammer only comes up in one line in that novel; it was not the murder weapon at all, but described the pulsating temporal artery of the love interest who succumbs to colllateral damage in one of the final scenes.  In the “Zebra Striped Hearse,” the car makes only a cameo appearance. Therefore, for the time being, my story is called “The Clean Plate Club,” after a dinnertime phrase my mother often used. It was the 1960s and there was this notion going around that Americans should not waste food since others were going hungry.  She would say, “You had better clean your plate, because Armenians are starving,” but I don’t think that anyone had a clear idea of who Armenians were.  In our household, members of the Clean Plate Club would be rewarded with two Hershey kisses for dessert. I always thought that “Clean Plate Club” would be a good name for a restaurant, implying particularly yummy food. However, Nick pointed out that diners would have no confidence in the cuisine if a restaurant had to reassure them that the plates were clean. So I have shelved the improbable restaurant idea and have repurposed it for an equally improbable book title.

The detective was at first unnamed, but now I have decided to call her Liza Blue, which I have occasionally used as an alias for Elizabeth Brown. This name came about when my brother Tim proposed that we change the color of our last name, so I changed Brown to Blue and went with Liza.

Suggestions welcomed regarding plot lines – i.e hidden identities, family secrets, possible blackmail, shady business deals, etc. No clear idea where I am going with this.

Prior chapters of The Clean Plate Club Murder Mystery are filed in the “Murder Mystery” category.

Chapter 10

My next stop was the University where I thought that I would start with the fencing coach.  I knew that I couldn’t get any information from the administration – schools these days don’t even feel the need to send report cards to the parents paying the tuition.  In my day, report cards were a dinner time event.  I would prop the sealed envelope against the candlesticks waiting for my father to be home, and he would open it over dessert.  Since he often worked nights, the letter could be silently sitting there for several days until we had dinner together.  I was an only child and the first one of my parents’ families to go to college, so I understood the pride and drama.  Fortunately, I worked hard at school and did well, but it was nerve wracking.  I would close my eyes and listen as my father slit the envelope open with his silver letter opener.  The unveiling would be followed by a small toast.  “To my daughter the College Student, who makes me so proud and also makes me work so hard to provide this opportunity.”  We would have a shot of liquor in small frosted glasses, and clink them together. Continue reading →

Prior chapters of the Clean Plate Club Murder Mystery are filed in the Murder Mystery category

Chapter 7

The police station was actually not far from Ralph and Fanny’s. The city had gotten a good deal on the empty lot that Sam Todd had targeted for a Costco and had built a new “green” cities services building that they were proud of. The parking lot was crushed gravel to prevent rain water run off and the close-in parking spaces were designated “for hybrid cars only.” The dramatic architecture featured floor to ceiling windows and a living wall of plants in the foyer that was supposed to create some sort of climate control. But as I walked though the hallway to the detectives’ office, I noticed that many of the offices were equipped with umbrellas to tame the relentless sun. I found Detective Rush on the second floor. Continue reading →

Prior chapters are filed in the Murder Mystery category.

As I drove back down the canyon, I tried to recreate the conversation and find the little lie.   That was often the first and best clue to a case.  No relationship can survive on a steady diet of the brutal truth, and the real test is whether the little lies can be woven seamlessly into the whole.  Almost by definition, anyone who needed to hire a private investigator had an imbalance of lies and truth.  The real test was whether tugging at the little lie would unravel a whole relationship and lay bare to the big ugly truth.  Simba and Sam clearly did not love each other as much as accommodate each other – his gruff disregard for her concerns, the testy bantering, her hand on his shoulder that was a statement and not affection – this was probably a pattern that had been perfected for the past 30 years.  To general public, theirs might appear to be a smooth and solid relationship – they would show up arm and arm at glittering black tie receptions and look like the picture of contentment.  I’d seen many such relationships – he made the money and in exchange she was in charge of their social life, spending and giving away money, and establishing connections that he exploited in his business life.  But these types of relationships were both rigid and creaky and typically couldn’t stand the harsh glare of reality.   Continue reading →