Graves in the Garden, page 1
part #1 of Savannah Hartman Mystery Series
Graves
in the
Garden
A
Savannah Hartman Mystery
By: Lisa D. Jones
Copyright © 2012 by Lisa D. Jones
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any electronic or printed form without permission. Please do not encourage or participate in the piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
ASIN: B00A6F01GW
Graves in the Garden: A Savannah Hartman Mystery/Lisa D. Jones
Printed in the United States of America
Cover Design by Lisa D. Jones & Jay Dooley
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, situations, and places are either products of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, whether living, dead, real, or fictional, companies, businesses, locations, or events are purely coincidental.
To my best friend, Jay:
Thank you for your friendship, your support, and the encouragement that you have given me over the years. Thank you for being my confidant and for kicking me in the rear when I needed it. I am proud to call you my friend.
1 – Introductions, Anyone?
I didn’t want to believe that Shawn Greenley was a murderer. The fact was that anyone could have done it. Anyone could have killed her. Anyone could have killed Alena Johnson.
The sheriff’s department has arrested Shawn for her murder, but if they knew about her estranged husband, Gabriel, they’d probably change their minds. Don’t get me wrong. They will find out about him. I mean, after all, I did. I just hope I can find him before they do. Shawn’s sister, Jessica (one of my best friends) is desperate to clear her brother.
This is where I come in. My name is Savannah Hartman. I’m not a police officer. I’m not a bounty hunter. I’m a private detective, although I’m not really a very good one. I think the terminology nowadays is private investigator? Hell, I don’t know.
Personally I think private detective just sounds better. It has a certain ring to it. It has a certain je ne sais quoi, if you will. The term detective kind of reminds me of those old cheesy movies where you would expect lame lines from all the characters. There’s always some sex starved man trying to do the investigating, making you wonder if he’s really working the case or just working on the damsel in distress.
I’d like to say I’m good at my job, but if I did, that would prove just how full of shit I really am. The term “detective” makes me sound so much more professional than the real story. The truth is that I’m just really lucky. Right place/right time kind of moments are the story of my life.
One of my employees is a man named Keith Whitman, even though I prefer to call him “Jackass” most of the time. Don’t get me wrong, he’s not really a complete asshole. He just likes to play one on the TV in his head. In the real world, he’s a pretty nice guy, for a jackass.
Keith is a computer guru. He can hack into anything, anytime, anywhere. He writes software programs, designs websites, and even changes the light bulbs when needed. I swear that man could program a dishwasher to walk a dog if he put his mind to it. Keith’s girlfriend, Claudia Holbrook, is my office manager.
When I got to the office on that fateful Tuesday morning, Keith was sitting at the computer, typing away as usual. His fingers hit the keys so fast and rough that for a moment I thought they would break free from the keyboard and fly across the room, lodging into the wall or with my luck, my forehead.
“You’re early”, said Keith, “Coffee’s ready”. I nodded and headed for the coffee pot on the other side of the room. Keith always made coffee that would knock off the testicles of any bull in any china shop. Most of the time I’d go down the street to Babe’s Coffee Shop, but today, Keith’s coffee would suffice.
“Coffee’s just the way I like it: strong, but with a little cream and sugar”, I said.
“Donut?” asked Keith. His arm was lightly outstretched with the donut box in his hand.
“Don’t mind if I do”, I said, reaching for a bear claw. That was the last pleasant moment of the day, at least, that I can remember. The rest of the day pretty much just went to hell from there.
2 – Alena’s Last Day
Alena Johnson didn’t deserve to die. She was a hard working woman who worked six nights a week at Ryer’s Pub as a waitress. There are a few on the outskirts of town, but Ryer’s Pub is the only bar within the city limits of Hopeville, Texas.
That evening, she had the early shift (four to twelve), so she made dinner, ate, took a shower, and then got ready for work. That evening was the last time anyone saw her alive.
Parts of her body were found in her own backyard, buried in a shallow grave in her tulip garden. I say parts because she had been crudely dismembered. Not all of the pieces were there: part of her torso, her right hand, and both feet were found buried in her garden. Her fingertips had been burned off, so DNA testing was required for proper identification.
The sheriff believed that either an animal had run off with the remaining body parts or that the rest of her was buried elsewhere.
Alena was not known for being late to anything, ever, so when she didn’t show up for work on time, it made the pub’s manager, Mitch Redman, a bit uneasy.
“Has anyone heard from Alena?” asked Mitch. “I haven’t been able to reach her. She was supposed to be here over an hour ago”.
Lanie Phillips was the first to speak up. “Nope and that bitch better not call in sick and leave me here to deal with these two losers on my own”, said Lanie, pointing at the two bartenders, Tim Carlson (the local conspiracy theorist) and Dallas Andrews (aka Cowboy).
Lanie was a whopping 5’2”, blond, skinny woman who thought the world revolved around her. During the busy times, it did, well at least in her mind. In reality, Mitch was just waiting for a reason to fire her lazy, stuck up, good-for-nothing ass.
“It’s really not like her to be late”, said Mitch.
“Maybe she discovered a secret government cover-up about the aliens that landed in Arizona and they put her in a far off remote location just to keep her quiet”, said Tim.
Dallas rolled his eyes and said, “Of course it would be secret if it was a government cover-up, ya idiot”.
Mitch just shook his head and walked away. He went into his office and dialed Alena’s number.
The recorded voice on the other end of the line said, “The number you have dialed is no longer in service. Please check the number and try again”.
Mitch hung up the phone and said quietly, “Something’s not right”. He paused for a moment, tapped his fingers on the desk, picked up the phone again, and dialed.
“Hope County Sheriff’s Office”, said Jolynn.
“Hey, Jolynn, it’s Mitch Redman. Can I talk to Sheriff Russell, please?”
“Sure thing, Mitch. Hang on. He’s right here”, said Jolynn as she passed the telephone to the sheriff.
“Sheriff Russell. What can I do for ya?”
“Nate, it’s Mitch Redman. Listen, Alena didn’t show up for work today and I was wond-”
“Well that ain’t like her at all. I tell you what: I’ll take a ride out to her place and take a look around, make sure everything’s okay”, said Nate.
“Thanks, Nate. I appreciate it”, said Mitch. He hung up the phone and said to himself, “I sure hope everything’s okay”.
3 – Caught Red Handed
A half an hour later, Sheriff Russell was pulling into Alena’s driveway. “Jolynn, I’m here”, he said into his walkie-talkie.
Alena’s car was in the driveway, but it didn’t look like anyone was home. A white pick-up truck was parked at the street with ‘Greenley’s Pool Service’ painted on the passenger side door.
Nate got out of his car and walked to her door. When no one answered after ringing the doorbell several times (and calling out her name), he decided to take a look around back.
From a few houses down the road, he could hear Marty and Edna Havershaft yelling for their little white poodle, Stella. Other than that, Decklin Street off of County Road 1360 was pretty quiet that evening.
As he rounded the corner, he saw that the gate into Alena’s backyard was partially open.
“Let go, you little bitch!” yelled Shawn.
Nate drew his gun and quietly entered the backyard. He walked slowly and cautiously until he was around the backside corner of the house.
He could see Shawn kneeling near the flower bed, fighting with Stella over – something? What the hell IS that?? Stella was growling at Shawn.
“Damn dog! Let …. go!!”
Stella let go and Shawn stumbled backwards with what looked like a bloody foot in his grasp. The blood was dry, but there was no doubt that it was a foot…a woman’s foot.
Nate cocked his gun and Shawn looked up. He immediately let go of the bloody foot and slowly stood up, hands in the air. Miscellaneous body parts were protruding from the tulip garden. It looked as if the garden had been recently dug up.
“Sheriff, I didn’t do anything. I just came back here to tend to the pool and I found that poodle digging in the flower bed. She had that foot in her mouth and I was trying to get it away from her. That’s all. I swear!”
“Stop right there, son. Don’t you take another step”, said Nate, pointing his gun at Shawn.
“Sheriff, I didn’t do anything!” yelled Shawn
“Son, get face down on the ground an
“But Sheriff, I-“, pleaded Shawn.
“Boy, this is the last time I’m gonna tell you. GET DOWN ON THE GROUND, FACE DOWN, HANDS BEHIND YOUR HEAD. DO IT NOW AND DON’T MAKE ME SAY IT AGAIN!!” yelled Nate. His voice was a little bit shaky, but his grip on the gun was firm.
Shawn put his hands on his head and got down on his knees.
“All the way down”, said Nate.
Nate holstered his gun and cuffed Shawn’s hands behind his back as he read him his rights. He took him out to his squad car and locked him, handcuffed, in the backseat.
“Don’t you go anywhere”, said Nate with a slight smile. “I don’t really need a legitimate reason to shoot your ass after what I just saw, so sit tight”.
Nate picked up his walkie-talkie and said, “Jolynn, I need you to send Tucker out here as soon as possible. Tell him to bring the camera and the crime scene kit”.
“Will do, Sheriff. Wait- when did we get a crime scene kit?” asked Jolynn.
Nate sighed heavily and said, “It’s the tackle box on my desk. Tell him not to forget the camera. Thank, you, Dear”.
“You got it, Nate”, said Jolynn.
Twenty minutes later, Deputy Tucker Bradley arrived on the scene. Edna and Marty Havershaft were standing at the curb talking to the sheriff. Edna was holding their poodle, Stella, who kept barking at Shawn.
He was still handcuffed sitting in the backseat of the Sheriff’s car, but that didn’t keep her from barking like she was some sort of vicious attack dog.
Tucker handed the “crime scene kit” over to Nate.
“Did you remember the camera?” asked Nate.
Tucker smiled and handed him the camera.
“Good. I’ll start in the backyard”, said Nate. “You take the prisoner to the office, lock him up tight and come back out here. We’ve got a lot of work to do”.
“Long night, yes sir”, said Tucker. “I’ll be back as soon as I can”. Tucker got Shawn out of the sheriff’s car and put him in his car before he headed for the sheriff’s office.
4 – Morning Coffee
I awoke with a start. The red numbers on my alarm clock read 3:37 am. Ugh! I let out a heavy sigh. I tossed and turned for a while before going back to sleep.
I woke up again at 9:14. I got up, took a shower, and headed for my office.
Keith was at his desk, mumbling something about Claudia and her weak ass coffee, while Claudia was at her desk slamming things around and mumbling about stupid ass men and their strong as death coffee.
“Woman! Don’t you know the Turkish proverb by now? I’ve said it a hundred times: ‘Coffee should be black as hell, strong as death, and sweet as love’. Drinking weak ass coffee is like French kissing your sister. It just ain’t right”, said Keith.
“Humph!” said Claudia in a huff. She had a scowl on her face that could melt pavement or boil Canada, whichever came first. She was giving Baked Alaska an entirely new meaning.
“I don’t even wanna know”. I sat down at my desk and started checking email. “Is there any coffee?” They both snarled and growled at me. “Never mind”, I said, putting my hands up in the air. “I’ll go to Babe’s”.
Babe’s Coffee Shop was only a half a block away, but today it felt like it took an eternity to walk there.
Isaac was perched in his usual spot outside the front door, blowing away on his saxophone. Hearing him on that sax is usually the highlight of my day.
Isaac was an old, black man and an Army veteran. He’d lost his right leg from the knee down several years ago in Vietnam. He’s got a prosthetic leg, but he makes a lot more money without it when he’s sitting in that wheelchair of his than he does when he wears the leg.
Babe Morgan was in his office, while his daughter, Callie, was working behind the counter.
“Good morning, Savannah”, said Callie.
‘She’s far too perky for ten in the morning’, I thought to myself, ‘I may have to kill her’.
“Do you want the usual?” asked Callie.
“Yes, please”. That was all I could manage to say to her without ripping out her vocal cords. I am not a morning person.
Babe came out of his office and smiled when he saw me.
“Well if it isn’t my favorite private investigator”, said Babe, “What’s on your agenda for the day?”
“Private detective”, I said, “Grumpy employees, hoards of work to do that I am not awake enough to get done or really want to do for that matter. You know - the usual”.
Callie handed me my bear claw and coffee. I handed her the money but she refused to take it.
“Dad told me not to accept money from you anymore”, said Callie.
“After everything you did for me and my family, anything you get is on the house from now on!” exclaimed Babe.
Last year, Callie had been accused of stealing a car and being part of a car theft ring. It turned out that there was a girl that looked just like her. Her doppelganger was a car thief.
Callie was cruising around with some of her friends at the time, so she didn’t have a verifiable alibi. I had helped clear her name.
I smiled and said thank you. Babe jogged around the counter and gave me a big bear hug to go with my bear claw. I ordered four more coffees to go and headed back to the office.
Isaac was still outside, so I handed him a coffee and threw a ten spot in his saxophone case. He didn’t stop playing, but instead nodded a thank you and smiled.
“Catch ya next time, Isaac”, I said as I walked away.
When I got back to the office, Keith and Claudia were still acting like a couple of two year olds. I handed them each a coffee, just the way they liked them. I won’t swear to it, but I think I saw a slight smile on the faces of my grouchy employees.
I sat down at my desk, threw out the now empty coffee cup and started on the full cup.
I checked my email. There was only one new one. Apparently, I’ve won the fifteen million dollar lottery in Uganda. You’d think these spamming idiots would come up with something more believable.
Claudia smiled as she dropped a huge stack of file folders onto my desk.
“Are any of these new?” I asked, with little hope, I might add.
“Nope, those are the cases you still haven’t solved”, said Keith. “THESE are the new ones”, he said, handing me eleven more files.
I let out a sigh and started rifling through the older files just to see if any new ideas sparked. I really hate taking pictures of cheating spouses or for paranoid spouses in general, but they do pay the bills.
When a new case comes in, Claudia takes down the necessary starter information from the client, gets the retainer fee, and explains the process along with the fee and payment set-up.
The clients all understand that if they don’t pay me, not only do they not get what they paid for, but I’ll also sue their ass for the every dime of the money they owe me.
Some of these shit birds think I’ll do the work for them then they can get away with not paying. That just does not work for either me or for my grumpy and sarcastic employees.
Claudia gives the client’s information to my computer mastermind, Keith. He does the basic research and gets an idea of where to find whoever or whatever I’m looking for.
It’s only then that I get involved. Keith and Claudia are very good at what they do, thankfully, so I’m willing to put up with a lot from either one of them. Good thing too. Sometimes they can be too much for most people, but then again, so can I.
5 – Visiting Hours
Jolynn Baker was sitting at her desk inside the Hope County Sheriff’s office when Jessica Carlson came bursting through the front door. Jolynn’s computer was to her right, phone to her left, and the CB radio was on a small table behind her, next to the fax machine.
Not much happened in Hope County. Occasionally, there’d be some kids that were too close to Mr. Glepsheen’s front yard. His mailbox had been knocked off the post a few times by baseball bats. He was a hateful old bastard, so that didn’t really surprise me. He’s the only person I’ve ever seen that goes outside and literally measures the grass in his yard with a ruler.
