1 The Happy Hour Murders

I

Minerva Saldivar never knew an un-bitchable day of her life. She was a miserable little woman who never saw the good side of anything or anyone. She was coming from the doctor's office one Monday evening when saw some motorcycles and pickup trucks in the parking lot of Humpy McDurvel's Bar, a neighborhood bar with no grand illusions. Life happens here. Transients, neighborhood good guys and bad ebb and flow through its antique doors as regular as the tides of the Corpus Christi Bay. Not a lot remarkable happens there.

"Those people, sitting there drinking. God only knows what they're up to," she thought to herself. Just as she was pulling away from the stop sign in her BMW, she saw some of "those people" sitting outside the building smoking. She shook her head again and then it happened, her car stopped moving. She jiggled the keys, pounded the steering wheel and, to her horror, the people smoking outside the bar were walking toward her.

She said in fitful panic, "God, don't leave me here with these people!"

Phillip was the first to her door and he knocked on the window. She was frightened. She looked at him through the window and said, "What?!" As she was nearly in the middle of the intersection he asked her, "Ma'am, can we help you move your car?"

Well she didn't know what to think. Her mind was racing and then struck quiet with Phillip's voice, "Ma'am? Are you alright?"

"Yes I'm alright! Why wouldn't I be?" She snapped.

Phillip smiled and said, "We just want to help. Will you let us or, do we have to call someone for you?"

Phillip Smithson, a retiree transplant from the mid-west. He's a good guy with an absolute atrocity for a wife. She uses her insecurities against him with cutting remarks nearly constantly. But, he seems oblivious, so they have been happily married now for forty-something years.

"I have a cell phone" Minerva snapped at him again while she dug through her purse. "I'll make my own call!"

Phillip cocked his head and turned to walk back with the rest of the group to the bar. Then he heard, "Mister! Come and at least move my car out of the intersection!" He turned, to see her getting out of her car. She was about 5'-nothing, wearing a pair of white jeans, a faded aqua shirt and a bowl cut hairdo, with a way too dark of a dye job.

He waved the others over and they joined him pushing her Beemer out of the intersection and into Humpy McDurvel's side parking lot. She supervised the entire move, making sure they knew that her car was expensive, she had lawyers and that her nephew was in the FBI. They moved the car and got away from her as quickly as they could. Phillip handed the keys to her vehicle back and asked if there was anything else he could do. She said no in her cold, spiteful manner. He wished her well.

Back inside the bar they were all at their usual table and when Phillip got to the table; they all looked at each other and said, "Wow."

Just then she walked in the door, she looked scared and confused.

Ryan Castillo is the mid-shift bartender. He is the tallest surliest looking barkeep you'd ever meet. He is a 6'4", broad shouldered, solidly built, and bearded man. His countenance is an almost permanent scowl, even when he smiles. But he is truly one of the best people walking the face of the earth.

"Can I help you, ma'am?" He asked.

Minerva turned quickly and nearly lost her footing but gathered herself, "My phone is dead! I need your phone to call the BMW dealership!"

"Yes ma'am," he said handing her the bar phone.

She manically punched in the number and waited in a fidgety stance. Finally someone answered, "THIS is Minerva Saldivar, I picked up my new BMW yesterday and now it is broken down and I'm calling you from a BAR!" there was silence on her end. "Well, I'm in a BAR! I don't know what it's called." She stood there with the phone pressed into her head like she was trying to shove it through. The bar was silent as they took in this weird little vignette of elderly frustration, elitism and entitlement.

Then from the silence a voice called out to her, "Minerva?" Chase Landress walked his bony frame towards the bar just as Minerva was about to really rip into the person on the other end of the line.

Chase Landress is an accountant, semi-retired. He is quite frankly one of the most hating individuals ever. Chase's wife left him after about 45-years of marriage. Everyone wonders why it took her so long. She moved back home to Alabama to be closer to her family. It's often been discussed that the wrong person left Texas.

"Chase!" Minerva was exasperated. "You talk to this impudent woman on the phone!!"

He took the phone reluctantly, "Hello? Yes. Yes. OK well we're at Humpy McDurvel's. Oh you know it? OK, well if you could send that tow truck over….oh OK, I'll let her know. Goodbye."

"Well?!"

"Calm yourself woman. You could drive Mother Teresa to murder." He looked at Ryan and said, "I'll take a Corr'shlight and she'll have a Maker's neat. You still drink Maker's right?"

Minerva didn't bother answering. She was quiet for as long as she could stand it and then she finally burst out, "Well, what did that slacker of an operator say?"

"They're sending the tow truck and the courtesy van," he said taking his first sip.

"That's it!"

"What the hell do you want? A parade? A mass said in your honor? Perhaps a day of mourning because your precious Beemer died in front of a low down bar? Drink your Makers."

She looked at the glass of bourbon on the bar. She whipped around to Chase and asked, "Well why can't you take me over to the dealership?"

"Because Ah'm busy," he picked up his beer, looked her square in the eye and walked away.

She walked out of the bar in a huff, mumbling something about a bunch of no good drunks.

"You know that woman?" Phillip asked Chase when he got to the table.

"Oh yeah, her husband I used to do business together. He was one of my clients. Good guy. She, of course, is stark raving bitch and that, I believe, was the reason for his early demise. Passed away in his sleep, as peaceful as peaceful could be. Really the only way he was going to get any peace in that house."

Phillip wondered aloud, "Why would someone marry a woman like that?" Those who knew Phillip's wife were thinking, 'Man, look in the mirror.' But out loud they mumbled, "Dunno…..beyond me…." and went back to Minerva.

"They ever have children?" Angela asked.

Angela Wisdom is a private investigator. She works for the very well known personal injury lawyer, Waylon McBride, "si, se habla Espanol!" his television ads assure. He's a good guy. She's happy with him.

"Nah….evidently her legs were fused together," Chase said lifting his beer.

They all laughed, they all drank, and eventually they all ordered another round. The conversation turned to Angela's two-week vacation up in the Hill Country, when a deer in headlights looking guy, wearing a Chipman's BMW uniform, came into the bar looking around. He looked like he half hoped to disappear.

He went up to the bar, "Excuse me sir, did you see a lady in here that was a little, ummmm…."

"Bitchy? Yeah, she's outside waiting for you," Ryan told the guy.

"She's not out there. The tow truck just took her car but I can't find her." He left the bar after another glance around and no one else gave it a second thought.

II

Humpy McDurvel's got its name from Jack Henry McDurvel II, of the legendary oil rich family. Jack Henry was called Humpy because he had an unfortunate weak right leg which gave him an unusual gait. He wasn't concerned about what the world might think of him, or his condition. Not because he was one of the great and powerful McDurvels but because he just didn't give a damn. Humpy's attitudes endeared him to the every-day Joe. His family found him eccentric at best.

The family wasn't all that surprised when Humpy decided to go into the bar business but months later when he married a beautiful lady bartender, Hazel McIntyre, there were some ruffled feathers. Within their first year of marriage, they had the first of four McDurvel's, Jack Henry McDurvel III. Rose is the second eldest and, as the only female of Humpy's children, was the apple of daddy's eye.

Austin, barely 11, died in a tragic Tilt-A-Whirl accident. The carnival was in town and back in the day drunken carnies operating huge, fast moving machines was not out of the ordinary. Austin, being a smallish child was catapulted out of his Tilt-A-Whirl seat like the rock out of David's sling. It was a closed casket funeral and eventually led to his mother's massive heart attack and her subsequent death.

Travis, the fourth child, was a mere toddler when Austin died and, unfortunately, was still a toddler when his mother died too, which made growing up a little difficult for him. One of the many aunts they had, Sophie, took it upon herself to care for Travis as if he were her own. The problem with that was her children did as they pleased with little or no consequences. Travis grew up from a wounded child into a bitter and spoiled man with lots and lots of money, all of which makes a very bad combination.

When Humpy died in 1996, well into his 80s, he left a massive fortune to Hank and his siblings.

Hank inherited the bar and some couple of hundred of acres in the Hill Country, right around Enchanted Rock area in Fredericksburg, one third of the multi-billion dollar fortune. Rose got most of the up-town property Humpy had in Corpus Christi and several acres in Padres Island and her third of the money. Travis was left with several businesses in downtown and his third of the loot.

III

Angela was leaving the next morning for the Texas Hill Country and was looking forward to having quiet time. Two weeks of no phone, no television, no computer and nobody. But tonight she was going to revel in the company of her friends.

The door opened but it didn't disturb the conversation. Two patrol officers walked in and they stopped at the bar and spoke to Ryan. The group of regulars looked up at the bar and Angela decided to sidle up and see what was going on. Since she knew both officers from her work at the law office, it just seemed natural. It wasn't always a great relationship, the police/private investigator relationship, but she was curious and her buzz was working her.

"Officer Roberto! Que tal?" She smiled at Office Ragland Roberts.

He looked at her with mild contempt, "Miss Wisdom."

"So frosty; so formal," Officer Tanger Washington admonished his partner. "Angela, how are you today?" Washington inquired with a slight bow.

"Finer than frog's hair Tanger. So what are you and Roberto up to today?"

"Missing woman. Hey, were you here earlier?" Washington replied.

"Three beers, so yeah, I've been here for a bit. Why?" She answered.

Washington pulled out his note pad to start taking notes, "Did you see an older lady with car problems?"

"Oh the Beemer Biddy! Yeah we helped her with her car. It was dead in the intersection and we pushed it through to the parking lot around the side. It wasn't dead dead, it had juice but wouldn't drive." Angela stopped talking and started thinking, "She's missing? It's only been a few hours. How is she missing if 24 hours has yet to go by….or have I been in this bar longer than I thought?"

Office Roberts answered her with some irritability, "She's the mayor's sister-in-law."

Angela thought for a bit, "Hmmm, you'd think I would have run into her before."

Washington shook his head, "Not from what we understand unless she goes to the doctor's office, which is where she was prior to breaking down here, she rarely leaves her house. Pretty much just stays at home with her dogs 24/7."

"How does she get groceries?" Angela asked.

Washington consulted his notes, "She has an errand girl. The girl, Grace Ayala, gets her groceries, her prescriptions and whatever other shopping she needs. She just goes in picks up and drops off. From what I understand the old lady isn't that much fun to be around."

"Yeah, that's putting it lightly. One of my friends knows her, let me see if he'll talk to you."

"Alright, Missy Ma'am," Washington said with a tip of his hat.

Angela was standing next to Chase and she gave them a synopsis of the conversation at the bar. Chase groaned, "And you want me to go talk to the cops, I s'ppose?"

"Well, it would be your duty as a good American." Angela knew Chase couldn't pass up doing his "duty"…whatever it may have been. He was a frustrated soldier. When the draft came around he was found unfit to serve in the military because of his poor eyesight. Flash forward several decades and he got laser surgery and perfect vision.

"Fahhhhhhhk, fine," he drained his beer. He ambled up to the officers with Angela in tow and introduced himself.

"So you know the missing woman?" Roberts asked.

"That sour old cow ain't missin'. She probably flagged down a cab because she couldn't wait five minutes for the courtesy van from over at the Beemer place. So there's probably some poor tortured soul of a cab driver contemplating suicide because that biddy bitched him up one way and down the other."

"So, you're not good friends with her?" Roberts asked taking notes.

"Nope. Can't say that. I know her because her husband was a client of mine back in the day. She killed him you know."

The officers raised their eyebrows.

"Well not in the conventional murderous fashion. God just took him in his sleep because that poor bastard wasn't gonna get no rest with that woman around. You know the old saying, 'God made them and the devil put them together?' Yeah, well it was 100% true in this case."

Washington chuckled. "Yeah I know the type."

"This one is the ORIGINAL of the 'type.' Really if she is missing, she didn't go quietly. That woman doesn't know from quiet. She put up a fight….unless of course…well…" He looked at the officers, "The only way she would've gone quietly is if she was taken by surprise. Even if she knew the person she would have put up some kind of ruckus."

"Good to know," Officer Roberts said. He told Chase he could go back to the table.

Washington turned to Angela, "Hey, wanna show us where the car was and where she may have waited?"

"Sure, my pleasure, the more time I get to spend with Roberto the better," she winked a smile at Washington as Roberts rolled his eyes.

They went out the front door and she showed the officers where everyone was prior to the breakdown of the Beemer Biddy.

"We were sittin' out here smoking and the Beemer pulled up slowly to the stop sign. The lady seemed to be staring us down. She kept shaking her head. I don't think she approved of us. Then she made it to the stop and then she looked at us again and then tried to pull away but the car barely budged its way into the middle of the intersection. That's when Phillip first approached her, we all voted to leave her to herself, but you know Phil is one of those guys that won't leave anyone hangin' like that. So at first she told us to back off and then next thing you know she was ordering us to move her car. We moved it over here."

She took them around the side of the building; they could see tracks in the loose gravel, two sets of distinct tracks; that of the Beemer and those of the tow truck (the latter being heavier and wider). There were footprints in the loose gravel, several, too many…the tow truck drivers, the regulars from the bar who pushed the car and those of the Beemer Biddy. Loose gravel is not very informative. There are no real impressions that really look like anything. You can see where a tire may have been but you couldn't identify the lands and grooves of the treads, therefore you can't identify the tire. You can see foot prints but you can't get an impression of the sole of the shoes, therefore, you can't identify one shoe from the other. It was a mess. And if this woman was indeed missing, it was going to remain a mess.

"So you think we should alert the lab boys?" Roberts asked Washington.

"For what? There's almost literally nothing here."

"Yeah but the mayor," Roberts reminded him.

"Ugh, that greedy old…..I mean that kind and benevolent man? I know, let's CYA it. Let's call Bruno. He loves helping the mayor," Washington said with a heap of sarcasm.

"Brilliant," Roberts smiled.

Angela has seen the Cover Your Ass game before. It was always wise for patrolmen to bring in bigger badges on weirdo stuff like this so that way the beat officer wouldn't take the fall for something that might lead to nothing, or something way above their pay grade. She went back inside the bar and decided it was time for a shot of Espolon, especially if she was going to deal with Bruno. She went up to the bar.

"Ryan, may I have an Espolon?"

Ryan grabbed a bottle off the shelf and poured a beefy shot for her, "They still out there?"

"Yep, they'll be here for quite some time. They're calling in Bruno. That old lady was the mayor's sister-in-law. It has to look like he's doing something about it."

"Great the rest of my afternoon is going to suck balls. No one is going to come in with that much black and white outside." He handed her the glass.

She took the glass and said with a bright smile, "Yeah, but the good news is you're stuck with us."

"Yay," Ryan said with absolutely no facial expression.

She drank her tequila, left the glass on the bar then headed for the ladies room. The ladies room has five stalls only four that worked. The last stall in the corner was used more for storage than an actual potty. She sat and commenced her business and she heard some funny hissing type noise. She looked at the floor and around her stall, but the noise didn't seem to be coming from where she was sitting. Then she heard a low gurgle noise. After she finished, she washed her hands and she noticed that the sounds stopped. But it bugged her enough to make her start for the stalls to take a look, just then the whirlwind known as Gaylyn came in to the loo.

Gaylyn is now what one would call a mid-range call girl. Since the recession, she had to take a pay cut that's why she's mid-range. She is a raven haired wench with a shapely figure. If she were not so known as whore, she might have married well. But this being a small city, with everyone in everyone else's business, there's no way a man of wealth would marry her. She wanted the wealth. She had no children or pimp and she skated by the law because she was so well connected. As she tumbled into the bathroom, she put her purse on the counter, waved at Angela and was on her cell phone with her engagement secretary speaking as casually as one might have talked about a pedicure.

"The Orion? OK, how many? Two….OK, a couple. Oh hey, Angela! Yeah I can be there by eight. Do I need to wear anything special? Oh good. I hate dressing up. Alright I'll call you when I'm finished with this gig." She got off the cell and attempted to tame the flurry of wildness she called hair. "Hey, Ang!"

The call really didn't faze Angela. She was well acquainted with Gaylyn as she is a great source of information, "Hey, Gaylyn. How are you?"

"Fine, busy. So what's up with Roberts and Washington out there," Gaylyn asked.

"Missing person's case. The mayor's sister-in-law."

"Really? Minerva Saldivar?" Gaylyn asked as she studied her face in the mirror.

Angela looked in the mirror to see what Gaylyn was looking at, "Yep."

"She's one tortured old woman." Gaylyn said.

That statement took Angela back a little, "She didn't come off that way. She came off as sort of a…"

"Bitch? Yep, that's how she masked everything," Gaylyn recounted the story of Minerva Saldivar as she fixed her make-up. "She was sexually abused as a child and traded it seems, very brutal. Her sister didn't know anything about it because the sister was brought up with an aunt. See, their mother died when they were young. The father took Minerva, she was older by about six years and Susanna went to live with their aunt. So a lot happened that the sister never knew about, well, until quite recently. Minerva actually killed her father when she was 12. Bastard had it coming."

Gaylyn pulled out another compact and was a flurry again with a brush, powder flying everywhere. "She should have strung him and his pals up by their balls. But being 12 well, what could she do? So she poisoned his food and nothing was ever said about it. Because everyone knew what was going on but, back in the day, even a rich Mexican could get away with such nastiness. But they really didn't look at him like he was Mexican, really. He was very fair, from what I understand, had green eyes. Actually Susanna looks stunningly like him, I'm told."

She pulled out another compact out and yet another brush, her purse was like a little leather clown car of make-up. "Anywho, Minerva killed him and, everyone figured, good for her as it seemed like the law wasn't going to do anything. So no one ever messed with it. Minerva, you see, never really recovered from the abuse. Though she married she never really trusted her husband. Well really, she never really trusted men ever. Not like our distrust of men," she said with a chuckle. "Her distrust was downright psychotic. I don't even know how she talked herself into getting married. She got pregnant within the first year of marriage but she had an abortion because she didn't know what might happen if the child had been a girl. It drove her quite mad."

Angela was blown away. Not a whole lot shocked her. She had seen some things, had heard some stories but for some reason this one really struck her hard. She had already made up her mind that Minerva was THE Beemer Biddy. She was an entitled, spoiled, my way or the highway, type of person who rolls through life like it were a demolition derby. And really to a certain extent she was that person, she wanted the world to hurt as much as she did. She never learned to turn her hurt into a foundation on which she could build a better life but then, when you think of it…..that's a shit-ton of hurt. It's not easy to move out from under a shit-ton.

Eventually Angela said, "Wow."

"Yeah I know. What a nasty childhood but, I can see how people could look at her as a stark raving bitch. I've seen her go full tilt."

"Grace Ayala is your secretary right? How do you know this story, through Grace? You know she worked for Saldivar too, yes?"

"Yep. One time Gracie got her meds and she took them up to the house on Ocean, you know it, it's gigantic with the kind of medieval castle look to it?"

"Yeah, I know it."

"Well Gracie got there and she found Minerva lying on the ground. And she didn't know what to do so she called me. I got there and Minerva was passed out; a bottle of Maker's Mark by her head. She was drunk one day and told Gracie the entire story. She was furious at herself the next day for telling Gracie and, of course, took it out on Gracie. Anywho, that night we found her passed out, we took her upstairs and stayed with her. I was asleep in the chair beside her bed and she woke me with an alarm clock biffing me upside the head. She hollered and carried on and then threw up. Gracie came running in and calmed her just as much as she possibly could. We were both told to get our whore butts out of her house. So we did." With the final stroke of mascara Gaylyn added, "Well with all that and her husband committing suicide like that….it's a wonder she ever got out of bed herself."

Angela was puzzled, "I thought he died of natural causes."

"Nope. El suicidoh."

"Wow. You can learn a lot in a ladies room," Angela was thoroughly wowed.

"Oh you have NO idea!" Gaylyn tossed the final compact into her purse. "Shot?"

"Sure what the hell. I'm taking a cab home. Oh heads up, Bruno is coming up here."

"Shit! Oh well… Le's go git summa dat tekillya!"

The ladies came out of the bathroom and Ryan looked at them, Gaylyn was talking a mile a minute and Angela was listening intently. They got to the bar and ordered their tequila. They cheered each other and sunk it. Ryan got Angela another beer and went to making Gaylyn's Cosmo.

He really liked Gaylyn especially since that misty morning, after a late night at the bar and a later night at Ryan's, with a little this and a little that. She truly was a professional. Ryan was in love, even though she expressly forbade him to fall in love with her. "Friends with extreme benefits is what we are. I forbid you to fall in love with me." Too late, Ryan was a goner.

Gaylyn stayed at the bar and Angela gravitated back to the smoking section outside the bar. Corpus Christi went smoke free in bars in 2009. Oh it was hard fought; people were outraged that their civil liberties were under attack. "It's a bar for cryin' out loud, not a health club," some said.

Others were more colorful about it, "They wanna bring in fuckin' Las Brisas and pollute our air with pet coke but we can't smoke cigarettes in a fuckin' bar?! Stupid mother fuckers." Oh it was an ugly little time but political correctness won out over civil liberties.

IV

"Aaannnnnnnnnngelahhhhhhhhh," Detective Bruno was in a mood, one of his best. He figured there was a huge possibility that the mayor was just covering his ass so his wife would think he was doing something to find her sister and that the woman would be found quite undamaged and probably riled that everyone was getting into her business. So he felt he was getting paid to do absolutely nothing.

Angela lit a cigarette, "Bruuuuuuuuuuunooooooooohhhhhh, que paso, senior?"

Bruno smiled, "Oh nothing. Just doing some looking around, asking questions, taking pictures…"

"C.Y.A.?"

"Yep. How're you doing? I haven't talked to you since that Coast Guard murder last year."

"I'm fine. On vacation, leaving for Fred in the mornin', be back in a couple of Sundays," Angela was looking forward to this vacation. The Coast Guard murder last year was the first murder investigation in which she fully participated. It wasn't pretty but now the bad guy is in the pen and he won't see freedom ever again.

"That's nice." Bruno switched gears and said, "Hey why won't you ever go out with me?"

"You're a cop. I don't date cops. It's unprofessional." She said with a wink.

"Yeah, hide behind your profession. You are askurred of the magic that is the Bruno Love Essperience?" He said while flexing stocky physique in front of her.

"That must be it." She laughed. "Get back to work Magic Man."

"One day, you will knock on my door," he said waving a finger at her, "One day..."

She put out her cigarette, winked at him and went inside.

Bruno came in after her but now he had his serious cop game face on as he approached the bar, "Ryan Castillo?"

Ryan said, "That's me."

"Can I ask you some questions?"

"Sure, but I told the other officers everything I know."

"Well other than that table of misfits over there," he gestured to the table of regulars, "and the hooker at your bar" he looked directly at Gaylyn, "you don't have a lot going on. So answer my questions."

"Alright, alright…." Ryan said, red faced and temples throbbing. He wanted to put Bruno through the wall. "You don't have to get nasty about my customers," he said in a calm growl.

He asked the same stream of questions as the patrolmen did. Ryan gave the same answers, which pissed him off further.

Then Bruno asked, "Where's this Chase fellow?"

"Over here, with the 'misfits,'" Chase bellowed with a wave.

Not a lot of people were fond of Detective Anthony Bruno. He was a real hard ass. He kept the Fun-Flirty Bruno completely separate from Work Bruno. His parents literally swam across the Rio Grande and made a new start en los Estados Unidos. They lived in the Rio Grande Valley, where they picked fruit for the gringos. They didn't want their children to pick fruit or cotton. They instilled the value of education in their children.

Bruno didn't speak English until he was in first grade. But he made it his mission to make his family proud. Ever since he was a child he had this huge sense of pride and duty to his family. He worked very hard and got through school with flying honors. He ended up at University of Texas in Austin. He got a degree in law and a minor in criminal justice. He took the bar and passed it the first time through. So there, he was a lawyer but he didn't like his fellow lawyers. He said he felt especially slimy after dealing with them. Then he realized one day when doing a plea deal, he truly was one of them.

"No, no, I'm going to be a detective," he told his then wife, Maria Elena. "I'd rather deal with the law on that end, then on this end."

Maria Elena soon left him. Not because of the hard life of a cop's wife but because of the cut in pay. Maria Elena soon, he later found out, broke up the marriage of one of his law buddies and successfully married him. They're very wealthy, so he figured that made her happy.

Being the eldest of six children, Bruno helped raise his brothers and sisters. God help the brother or sister who stepped out of line. They weren't as afraid of their parents as they were of what Bruno might do. Yes, even his siblings called him Bruno. This confused their friends at first. "So your parents named him Bruno Bruno?" "No. It's just 'Anthony' just doesn't seem to fit him. So we call him by his only other name."

Bruno went over the same information with Chase that the police officers did and then walked away to consult his notes and compare them with Roberts and Washington's notes.

"Chase," Angela said, "You bes' take a cab home tonight."

"I ain't takin' no g'ahdamn cab."

Phillip chimed in, "Chase, you better listen to Angela. She knows these guys." The others nodded in agreement.

Finally a bleary eyed Chase Landress agreed, "Fahhhhhhhk. Fine."

Angela had one more shot of tequila and then made a B-line for the ladies room. She remembered the noise she heard earlier and looked in each stall. There was no one there. She landed herself in the fourth stall next to the storage stall. She hadn't bothered to look in it. She was doing her business when she saw what she thought was a wig hanging under the stall. "Probably someone's Halloween costume from last year," she thought.

Last year's Halloween party was crazy. Travis McDurvel, the black sheep of the McDurvel family threw a Halloween party that rivaled anything seen in Corpus Christi as far as public debauchery was concerned. The stories of women stripping in order to be painted by an artist hired by Travis for the evening are still recounted nearly a year later. The free flow of tequila was mostly to blame. It's hard to resist free booze…especially when you're a booze hound. The bar staff was still finding bits and pieces of costumes in every nook and cranny since that party.

She finished her business and she just kind of tugged on the wig. She thought it would be funny if she put it on and went back out as a brunette. Truly the tequila was gaining on her. She tugged harder at the wig. It was stuck on something. She reached up under the stall and she felt a face. She bolted upright and stifled her shock. She went to the storage stall and she shut her eyes to steady herself, this wouldn't be her first body but it just never got easy. She opened the door slowly and there was Minerva Saldivar, stuffed upside down, as if she were flung over the stall, dead as a door nail. She left the ladies and hollered for Bruno, "You need to come here!"

He went to her with a smile on his face. But when he saw the serious mug she had, he knew this wasn't for fun and games. Sadly for him, it never was. She took him into the ladies room and pointed to the last stall. Bruno looked. "The missing lady, I take it?"

"Yep."

Most of the bar had filled the doorway to the ladies room and all were angling for a better view. Not much to see though because the body was upside down and kind of crumpled looking. Minerva was not a big woman. She was very petite. Angela was looking at Minerva's body and thought to herself, "It wouldn't have taken a lot of strength to pick up her body. But why is it upside down? Surely whoever did this could have hidden the body easier and with less effort if they had left it right side up. Very odd."

"Strange isn't it?" Bruno asked.

"Yeah, I don't get it. But then there's a lot I don't get about murder," Angela said.

"Yep," Bruno agreed. He pulled out his cell phone and called the crime scene unit and told them to alert the morgue as well.

"Lab guys coming?"

"Yeah."

"K, can't wait to see what there is to see when they bring her down."

"What makes you think you will? You're not involved in this case," Bruno and his game face are nothing to challenge.

But Angela isn't easily intimidated, "Oh, that's how it's going to be? OK, I'll remember this".

Bruno turned to the peanut gallery encroaching further into the ladies room, "Y'all get on back to your barstools. Mr. Castillo, lock your doors, no one in or out before I talk to them." He got on his radio and told Washington and Roberts that the bar was to be shut down until further notice, no one in, or out, past the smoking section of the front door.

He looked at Angela, who hadn't budged from her spot, "You, you need to go sit on a barstool and drink a beer and stay out of my way until I call on you."

She raised her eyebrows and said, "Fine." and walked away. He knew this wasn't "fine" and he knew this would cost him somewhere down the line. He didn't care, this was his body, his murder and so, after Angela left the ladies room, he set to studying the scene.

The bathroom is paneled in wood with heavy patina of all the years smoke and Lord knows what else. Though cleaned regularly there is always some kind of debris, a bottle cap here or there, a lighter maybe and sometimes bits of some illegal contraband. The latter are rare though. Druggies tend to keep track of their drugs.

In the storage stall there were a couple of boxes, mostly containing decorations for various holidays. The largest one was marked "Halloween" with the "o" made into a Jack-o-lantern and the next biggest one was marked "Christmas 2" with holly underlining the text.

The other boxes contained various banners announcing specials and special events. All were clearly marked so Bruno didn't have to go digging in them to find out what was inside them. But as part of the crime scene, they would be taken to the lab and carefully examined.

On the opposing wall was yet another storage closet, but this one had a lock. The toilet/storage didn't. He made note and took some pictures with his phone. He tried the locked door and it wouldn't budge. Next to the locked storage closet is the sink. There's a generous counter top surrounding the sink and another storage space under the sink. There's a large mirror above the sink and a soap and a towel dispenser to the right of the mirror. To the left of the dispenser is the only door to the room and on that a full-length mirror with a massive crack on it hung. It was a rounded crack and that spread a bit. It looked like a spider's web.

Bruno leaned in and looked closer, "Well, lookey here…a hair but no blood. Could someone's head crack a mirror and leave no blood? Or could this be old damage to the mirror? This could be a random hair," he thought. He snapped a photo, took a pair of tweezers and plucked the hair from the glass and placed the hair carefully into a small zip baggie.

He walked out of the ladies room and approached Ryan. Ryan was already annoyed with Bruno and really didn't want to talk to him anymore but he knew Bruno could do him up and make his life a complete hell. So he braced himself and Bruno asked about the bathroom mirror.

"Really? No I hadn't notice. But then I wasn't in there today. I went in there last night. A lady got really, really drunk and her friends couldn't get her out of the john so I went in there and carried her up to their car and put her in but last night….no, I don't remember it being broken."

"Who were the ladies that were in there?"

"You got me, just some random people." Ryan was lying his butt off. It was the Martinez sisters who were having trouble with their newly divorced friend in the john.

"Really? Random?"

Ryan thought, "Little mother fucker, he knows." He said, "Yeah random. Not everyone who comes here is a regular."

"Well no. But I was a lawyer for a lot of years and now I've been a detective for the better part of a decade, I know when people are lying to me Mr. Castillo. Why do you want to lie to me?"

"Look I don't know who the drunk lady was, I just carried…"

"Yeah you carried her out to the car, did you see what kind of car it was, did you make note of the color? Anything?"

"No it was busy; I just wanted to get back to work." Ryan was really digging a hole now.

"Great, I love looking at bar receipts. Hand 'em over."

"OK fine, it was the Martinez sisters, Hazel and Aletha. They were here with some friend of theirs, who I really don't know, anyway she just got through a nasty divorce and she wanted to drown her sorrows."

"And why were you lying for them?"

"Because they're good people and they really don't have anything to do with this. I just don't want to bother a whole lot of people over this."

"'This?' 'This' is a murder," Bruno's words came out staccato and direct. "There is a dead woman in your restroom. Do you not understand the urgency here? I have to clear up a lot of things before I can even get to the body you dumb ass," Bruno hated when civilians got in the way of doing his job.

"OK, I get it. I'm sorry," Ryan surrendered.

The crime scene people pulled up in their vans eyed by half the bar. Phillip, Chase, Angela and Gaylyn were sitting on the bench in front and a couple of stragglers were smoking cigarettes or on their cell phones telling their wives or whoever, they were going to be late.

Phillip was on his cell, "Well I don't know when, all I know is the cops are here and they're not letting anyone in or out of the joint until they talk to all of us. For crying out loud Melanie, there's a woman dead in the john! Oh great, the T.V. stations are here. You can flip on the flippin' news and watch it. Look I'll even fuckin' wave to you," he started waving frantically at one news camera that was up and running. "There, ya happy?" With that he hung up.

Hanging up on someone when you really want to slam the phone down on them and make a statement is very unsatisfying with a cell phone.

Gaylyn was laughing at Phillip, he knew it, "Well that woman, I love her and it's not enough to love her. She's just such a bitch sometimes."

Gaylyn smiled, "Gracie, it's me. Well I'm kind of in a pickle and I can't leave the bar. Well someone up and got murdered here so the cops are keeping us here until they talk to all of us. Can you call the McGregor's for me?" Gaylyn had a code name for all the types of clients she had. McGregor was for couples. "Yeah turn on the news. Right now we're the only thing worth watching on T.V. Yeah I'll tell you all about it later. Yeah Bruno is here…yeah." Gaylyn was exasperated with trying to avoid Bruno or really just exasperated with Bruno's presence. Just the fact that he was breathing the same air she does is enough to exasperate her.

Chase had no one to call, its not like the dogs could answer the phone.

V

The crime scene unit filed into Humpy's carrying various cases and very serious looks on their faces. Angela recognized most of them and so did Gaylyn. Not that she let on, she has a good poker face.

Bruno dispersed the majority of them to the ladies room where the body was. The coroner arrived and came in with a stretcher. He was sent to the ladies room. The rest of the crime scene unit peeps were scattered around the bar area dusting for finger prints where Minerva stood and outside in the parking lot looking for anything they could tie or eventually tie to this murder. When they finished up their photographs and topical finds they let the coroner take the body from the stall storage and carry it out to the hall of the bathroom because there was no way to maneuver the stretcher around the corner and into the ladies room.

Humpy's is like a double-wide trailer with beer taps. The front door is at the center of the building facing Buford Street and the second door is on the end facing Third Street. Up until a few months ago those were the only two entrances/exits for decades. Then when the smoking ban was enacted the McDurvel's decided to make a back patio and put a third door across the body of the building from the front door facing the field out on the back side of the building where the patio is. The roof is a high-pitched barn roof styled attachment. It wasn't original to the building. It was an add-on after the McDurvel's figured it looked a little too much like just a double-wide trailer.

So between the roof of the trailer building and the inside of the high-pitched addition there was plenty of room up there to really open an upstairs to the bar. Hank had said many times, "A man can stand up in there. Of course he can't get too near the sides without bumping his head." The idea of some kind of balcony bar was tossed around and Hank was considering it. But then Hank was a long muller. He could mull over something for years before he acted. So no one was holding their breath.

Soon the coroner had the body in his wagon and was off to the morgue, the lab people were in the bathroom still processing when Angela went up to Bruno, "I've got to use the ladies room."

Bruno looked at her, her legs were crossed and she was slightly bouncing, "Use the men's and aim."

Angela thought. "And then he wonders why I won't date him." She cocked her head at him and said, "Fine." without so much as a look back as she went to the men's room.

"Shit, another 'fine,'" Bruno said under his breath.

"Bruno?" The voice came over Detective Bruno's radio clipped to his lapel.

"This is Bruno. What's up Roberts?"

"Sir, Mr. Hank McDurvel and his brother Travis are here. They own this place."

"Oh excellent, let them in, please."

Bruno knew Hank's reputation of being a good guy and it never wavered, so he figured Hank is an actual good guy. He didn't know too many people in the bar business that were 100% clean but he figured this McDurvel came close.

Now Travis has a reputation that isn't all that great. He has a couple of businesses downtown that are a little on the side of shady but nothing could ever be pinned to him. There were a couple of rape charges made that disappeared into thin air. It was rumored that there was a child born of one of these rapes too but no one, not even Hank, knew where the child was or if the child really existed. Travis had blown through most of his inheritance but always seemed to be rolling in money. Hank was curious but not too curious. He loved his brother dearly but he also knew what his brother was capable of and wanted no part of it.

Hank was dressed in belted pressed jeans, neatly pressed plaid shirt and John Deere cap and cowboy boots. He had just gotten back from the property out in the Hill Country when he heard the news. He was dropping in to give Angela the new key to the lock on the back gate to the property he lets a select few use. Travis, who was on his way to the bar for Monday night libation, was dressed in rumpled cargo shorts, a floral shirt, Reef flip flops and a baseball cap.

While Hank went directly to Bruno, Travis made a B-line for Gaylyn, "Hey sugar, all dressed up and nowhere to go?"

"Oh Trav, don't you wish you knew."

"I bet I do know…" he chuckled as he ran his finger up her forearm. She wanted to vomit but didn't give him the satisfaction of letting him know he made her skin crawl.

"Travis!" Hank hollered at his brother. "Com'ere!"

Travis sauntered over to the ladies room, "What do we got here?" Hank and Travis were held in the hall just before the ladies room door.

"Well Mr. McDurvel, we had a dead body. It's on the way to the morgue."

"Anyone I know?" Travis jauntily asked.

"Mrs. Minerva Saldivar?"

"Nope, dunno'er. You Hank? You know'er?"

"Can't say as I do. But then I'm not at the bar as often as I use to be, spend most of my time up in the Hill Country."

"How much longer y'all gonna tie up the bar? I got people comin' over tonight," One of Travis' parties was on the agenda for the evening.

"You're gonna have one of your parties?" Hank asked. "A woman just died here. What's wrong with you?"

Travis looked hurt, "Well, I'm just havin' a few people over."

Just then Angela stepped out of the men's room. "Well, lookey here, it's the Albino Amazon herself."

Angela rolled her pale blue eyes, "Hank, just how did you end up with a jack ass for a brother?"

Hank smiled, "Angela, good to see you." They shook hands. "So Angela what is going on here?" He trusted Angela more than some strange cop.

"Let's go out to the bar," Angela suggested.

"Now you're talking," Travis said. "OK, let's get our drank on!"

Hank pulled the lead, "Travis you go on up to the bar, leave me and Angela to do the talking."

Travis shot his brother a sour look but happily went off Gaylyn's way. She was in a close-quarters conversation with Ryan. He caught the sight of Travis out of the corner of his eye and gave Gaylyn a heads up. She looked at Travis as he slid his arm around her waist and gave her a squeeze, "Ba'tender! Git me and this lovely flower a shot. None of that Espolon shit. Git the good stuff out of my reserve." The bottle in his reserve was a $7,000 bottle of Clase Azul Ultra Tequila. One thing about Travis, he has damn good taste in booze. Though Azul is more of a sipper, Travis didn't have enough class for that. He shot it down. Gaylyn figured she'd savor the Azul. Espolon, though good tequila, was rot gut compared to this bit of liquid heaven.

Travis slapped Gaylyn on the thigh, "Shoot it, girl!"

"Travis, have some class."

"Some 'ass?' WOOOOOOOOOO Let's git this party started!!!!"

Gaylyn let out an exasperated sigh, "Seriously, why couldn't you be more like your brother?"

Travis turned on her, red faced, lip in a snarl and snatched the drink from her hand, "I only drink with friends!" And he stormed away to the back patio.

"Drinkin' alone again," Gaylyn half whispered to herself.

Pretty soon, everyone was asked where they were, what they saw, who they talked to and all the answers were given. Not one answer strayed away from the original story. There was nothing to be had. The bathroom was processed rather quickly because there wasn't any blood, all the prints had been collected, and all the contents from the storage stall were taken.

"Well you have your bathroom back," Detective Bruno said to Mr. McDurvel. "And we'll be cleared from here in a bit. Thank you for your patience." With that he shook Hank's hand and nodded at Angela and left the bar.

Hank followed Angela's eyes that were following Bruno out the bar, "So, what can you tell me about our friend, the detective?"

"Well, he's really good at his job. It's his focus on his job that can make him an absolute ass. If that makes any sense," She said.

"Yeah it does."

Just then Angela's cell phone was ringing. Her mind was darting in all different directions and all the murderous excitement of the last five hours killed her buzz. "Hello? Yes sir. Well, I'm on vacation. I leave for the Hill Country in the morning," there was a long pause. "I know the mayor's sister-in-law. I…" another pause. "OK well…yes sir…I'll get right on it….well no one knows anything right now. They just took all the evidence and all the statements. Besides how can I investigate the murder? I'm the one who found the body," another pause. "Well no I didn't kill her! But still it doesn't look right. Yes sir, fine sir," with that she hung up. "Shoulddah just gone up to the 'Country this morning. Just shoulddah gone on up. Dang it!"

"Oh Little Girl," Hank's pet name for Angela. "You know that if you had gone on up Waylon'd call you up anyway. You're too good at your job."

"Yeah, he might have."

"Ah stay and have a beer with your old friend. I could use one," Hank raised two fingers up towards the bar and in almost an instant two beers, a Lone Star for Angela and a Shiner for Hank, were in front of them. It wasn't often that Hank drank but when your bar is a murder scene well, you might want to have one…maybe even two.

Travis came back in the bar from the outside patio, "Oh having drinks now?"

"Well, I figured why not?" Hank said.

"If I asked you to have a beer you would've turned me down, but Lil' Girl over there…"

"Now you watch it. I asked her to have a beer with me. At least with her I don't have to argue my way through a beer!"

Travis looked hurt, for just a quick second, and then his face turned red. He turned heel and as he was making his way out the front door he yelled at Ryan, "If anyone comes in for me, tell 'em I'm at Chester's!"

No one looked Hank's way. They were embarrassed for him.

Angela sat and sipped her beer and finally Hank said, "Well, here's to good times anyway." They cheered each other and drank their beer. Their conversation ran off to the Hill Country and the sounds Enchanted Rock was making; it creaks and groans along with the rise and fall of the temperatures. That's why the Native Americans in that area called it Enchanted Rock. Soon they were finished with their beers, said their goodbyes. Angela went to see Phillip and Chase at the table. Everyone else had cleared out. Gaylyn was off salvaging what she could of her night. Everyone else went on home.

Smiling at her friends she asked, "Well guys, what are you doing here still?"

"Waitin'onagahddamn cab," Chase slurred.

Angela wanted to laugh at Chase. While he wasn't a fun drunk, he was a funny drunk….or at least darkly entertaining. His general angst and slurry vocabulary were happy hour gold.

"Angela, did Waylon call you?" Phillip asked.

She nodded her head, "Yep."

"Figured he would," Phillip said patting her hand lightly.

"Fahkin'law'rs…" Chase chimed in.

Angela smiled at Chase and turned to Phillip, "Yeah well he's good friends with the mayor and then the mayor saw me on the news standing outside with y'all and so the mayor called Waylon, Waylon called me and well shit rolls down hill."

"All fahkin' alike sumbitches."

Ryan came up to the table and told the men, "Chase, Phil, your cabs are here. Ang, you takin' a cab?"

"Ride with me," Philip said. "You're on my way anyway. Let's split a cab! HA! Haven't done that in years. Then again I haven't spent near half the night in a bar in years either."

"OK I'll ride with you," Angela said.

"Allfahkin'alike. Fahkin' law'ers."

VI

Like any good neighborhood bar, Humpy's has their regulars. Being that this particular bar opens at 7 a.m. and closes at 2 a.m. there are several shifts of regulars. There are at least three main shifts at Humpy's any given day of the week.

In the morning the breakfast crowd comes in for their happy hour. These people are night shift workers from the nearby hospital, St. Luke's, and hotel staff from downtown. The big hotel, The Orion, is a huge staple in Corpus Christi and employs thousands of people.

The second shift of regulars combines two sub shifts. One comes in about 3 p.m. mostly these are retirees and teachers…more hospital and service industry people. About 5 p.m. office workers, lawyers and construction workers come in to the bar. The third shift is the night crew; they come in about 10:00 p.m. and stay until close.

There are also those regulars who have become part of the family. They go behind the bar, they help out bar backing, they run errands and they bring food for pot lucks on Sundays during NASCAR and football seasons. Of these particular regulars Angela stands out from the crowd.

She is a tall woman with athletic build. She's blond, blue eyed and she would be very pale if she didn't spend so much time out in the sun. While not the girliest of women, she's certainly comfortable in her own skin and has learned to use her unusual stature and feminine wiles to get what she needs.

There are a few other regulars you should know about.

Matt Herrmann is a part-time alcoholic and full-time who knows? No one knows where Matt is from because he's told so many different stories. One day he just appeared at the bar and was just so congenial with everyone he fell in quickly with the crowd of regulars. So much so, no one really bothered to get to the bottom of Matt's origins, or what bought him to Corpus Christi, Texas.

Onetta Zambrano Myers was a successful model back in the day. She worked for Dillard's and Nieman Marcus up in Dallas. She was and still is quite a striking woman. Her beauty never really faded, it just evolved gracefully.

Onetta married Marvin Myers, an industrialist when she was 18…he was 42. They had a short but loving marriage. The Dallas Morning News reported in December of 1980, "Marvin Meyers was discovered by his wife of five years in his recliner in front of the television." Police reports said, "There was an empty tumbler of scotch in his left hand and a .22 in his right and a small hole in his right temple." The death was later ruled an accident. Wealthy Texas industrialists simply do not commit suicide. About a month after the funeral Onetta came to South Texas because she loved the deep sea fishing and the laid back attitude of the area. Well that and rumors began swirling about maybe Marvin had some help with his unfortunate demise.

There are others who float in and out of the group. James Stanton, a nearly toothless bon vivant who loves the sound of his own voice, as much as he does telling anyone, who will listen, how great he is. Geraldine Garcia, a poor yet hard working gal who just can't seem to catch a break. Butcher, Chicken and Felix, construction guys who keep to themselves mostly but are really are the friendliest men covered in construction debris you'll ever find.

VII

Up on Starr Street is a building at the top of the hill that read, Waylon McBride Law. Waylon strode into his building. He is a short, heavy man who kind of resembles a cantaloupe walking on toothpicks. He wears cowboy boots, three-piece suits with a bolo tie and a wide brimmed cowboy hats. He looked like a western themed thumb tack.

"Hidey Misha!" He exclaimed to the receptionist. She got up from her desk and took his hat like she did every day. Misha is a stunner. She has long legs and an ample bosom. McBride is no fool. He knew window dressing was just as important as winning cases and he paid well for window dressing. But as beautiful and tempting as Misha is no one could replace Miss Ida Mae. Miss Ida Mae is the one and only Mrs. McBride. Waylon is unwavering in his loyalty to his wife, she is THE love of his life. She has kind eyes and has been the driving force behind the McBride philanthropy. She is on the symphony board, the board at the art museum and funds a small theater group. Everyone who knew her called her Miss Ida Mae. She didn't like "Mrs. McBride" and calling her simply "Ida" didn't seem to work for anyone, including her husband. She and Rose McDurvel Flores, Hank's sister, were on many of the same committees and boards doing good works for deserving people.

Rose married Feliciano Flores, a well known Tejano radio personality. The marriage lasted for many years until Feliciano's heart gave out in the middle of the Tejano Fiesta. She figured that would have been the way he'd want to go. They had three children, Feliciano Jr. otherwise known as Chano, Hazel (so named after Rose's mother) and Steven. Chano was in the McDurvel oil business that is now working its way to going "green" and Hazel became a pediatrician and Steven is at the University of Texas at Austin majoring in law.

The McBrides had one son, Troy, who was trying to find himself at University of Texas. Thus far it's been a 12-year plan and he has come thisclose to at least three bachelor's degrees but could never quite close the deal. His interests lead him from English, to history and then to theater arts. He is a good kid. He smokes a little pot and drinks a bit but doesn't really do anything that makes him a bad seed or a complete waste of time. He just never finishes much of anything. While Waylon's patience was wearing thin, Miss Ida Mae took up for the boy but she found herself cutting back on allowances for him. Troy was beginning to notice.

Steven and Troy hung out for a bit in Steven's freshman year and are now living together in Steven's junior year. It was going to be really difficult for them to tell their parents the living arrangements weren't strictly platonic. Well it was going to be easy for Steven because his mom was the only one alive and she is very open-minded. He might take some ribbing from his siblings but they wouldn't care either as long as he was happy. Troy was a little more afraid because of the fact that he's never graduated from university in the 12 years he's been attending and now, he's gay? He knew his father wouldn't hate him for it but still…he felt it would disappoint him. But it happened. Steven loved Troy's creativity and sense of freedom and Troy loved Steven's determination and sense of style. So there they are, two love struck men in Austin; the city of hipsters, hobos and politicians.

Waylon got into his office the expanse of which was completely hidden under piles of books, newspapers, magazines and random files. There was a chair unoccupied by clutter in front of the desk and his chair which is an absolute monster of tufted leather. And of course he knew where everything was, well he and Erma Fuentes, his long-time secretary. Erma is tall and slender and resembles a crane wearing thick glasses. She always has a sweater about her shoulders, even if it was 100 degrees, she'd have that cardigan on her shoulders and she'd be slightly shivering.

"Angela called, she'll be in today about 9-ish, she wants to know if you want kolaches?"

"Yes, but the real ones with the jelly, remind her. She tried to sneak one of those sausage jalapeno things in on me once."

"Yes sir. Mayor Guntenthall wants to talk to you about Minerva Saldivar. His wife is quite beside herself."

"Yes, I spoke with him last night. If he calls back again tell him I'll get back with him after Angela and I meet."

"Yes sir."

"Hey, where's that file on Benzinger and Flome?"

"Oh, it's by the, well let me get it." She went to a pile situated by the door. A stack of Texas Monthly's went sliding into the doorway.

"Erma, send those old ones to the Goodwill."

"Yes sir, here's the file."

"Thank you, ma'am. The others get in yet?"

"Yes sir and I've distributed the calendars so their assistants will get them on their day."

Law never sleeps and neither did the Waylon McBride Law. They have a service answering the phones 24/7 and at 6 a.m. every week day Erma went through all the messages and distributed all the appointments, client inquiries and the like to all the administrative assistants and they in turn gave their bosses the low down on what to expect that day. All staff are expected by 7 a.m. and all lawyers were expected by 8 a.m., investigators just pretty much did what they wanted as long as the job was done right.

"Get someone in here to clear out the magazines and things I've gone through and send the good ones to the Goodwill and the ones that are hacked up toss 'em in that recycle thing out back."

Erma knew which piles were picked through and the ones that still needed picking. Picked through were closest to the door; still needed picking, were closer to the desk. The stacks in no man's land were mostly law journals and those never made it out of the building. They would eventually end up in a box in the basement. Waylon would, most times, come to the office on a Sunday afternoon to peruse articles and nap. It is quiet here on a Sunday. No one to bother him for anything.

He looked out his office window which looks out, immediately into an alley behind a large rock and roll venue, but beyond that was the skyline (not yet at its full potential) of downtown and beyond that was the Corpus Christi Bay, which leads out to the Gulf of Mexico, which leads out to the Atlantic, which leads to more water, buoyant and free. Buoyant and free…was Waylon getting too old for this game? Was it time for him and Miss Ida Mae to hit the road and see more of the world?

"Hey sir! I got real kolaches. Geez I make one mistake and I pay for it the rest of my life… hey what's up with you?"

"Nothing, just feeling my age. Wha'cha got little lady?"

"Well other than kolaches and coffee I have a dead woman on my hands whose death you want me to investigate and I don't feel none too right about that."

"Because you found the body?"

"Yes and I think I was listening to her die."

"Really?" Waylon asked as he inspected his kolache before he began to nibble on it.

"Well I had gone into the bathroom earlier and I heard some weird hissing when I was in the ladies."

"Were you going at the time?"

"Well, yes but it wasn't that kind of hissing. And then there was a low gurgle noise."

"Why didn't you investigate?"

"Well just then Gaylyn came in and she was just a whirling durbish. I got distracted."

"Ahhhh Gaylyn….hahaha, I'll bet she was a font of information."

"Always is. She gave me the low down on Minerva." Angela recounted the story Gaylyn reported in the ladies room to Waylon who didn't look too shocked but he did raise one eyebrow. That's about as shocked as Waylon gets these days.

"Well, that's interesting. So she's killed before, her husband committed suicide and now she's been murdered."

"Yes sir that's where it stands thus far."

"Mhmm. Well, I guess you ought to get your hiney on down to the M.E.'s office."

"So you still want me on this?"

"Yep. So get going, earn your keep."

"Yessir." Angela picked up her coffee and note book and headed to Chad Everhart's office.

VIII

Chad is a good ol' boy by way of Boston. He is a transplant who took really, really well to Texas. He even bought a little spread out by Woodsboro just so he could have a horse or two. His hobby, other than playing cowboy, is body trajectory. Sure ballistics and blood spatter get all the glamour and attention when it comes to trajectory studies. However, a body; short, tall, fat, skinny, average…what does it take to make it fall the way it falls? And with all the variables of weight, age, height and then the variables of where the body was found….off a cliff, a building, into a chasm, into a sewer slurry tank? God only knows what other variables there could be but the possibilities are awesome.

Imagine there are zero marks on the body, no offensive or defensive wounds, and yet here it is on the sidewalk…30 stories from where it was, presumably alive, at one point. Did this person jump or was this person thrown or pushed from that 30th floor? This niche is important, at least important to Dr. Chad Everhart, because statistically speaking the possibility of having such a scenario does exist, no matter how slim, the possibility is out there.

So along with his horses he has a dummy named Ralph. Ralph has been through many amputations, decapitations and impalement. He's been flung from cliffs, airplanes, and buildings. But he can't jump all by himself. Ralph would have to use his legs to jump from the building, there would have to be some application of the muscles to jump otherwise it's all just falling from a building. Falling and jumping are two distinctly different acts. Falling is just letting go – whether knowingly or unwittingly, jumping has intent and purpose. Lots of variables. So in Ralphie's next metamorphoses he is going to get some type of skeletal system and a remote control device so the good doctor can see what happens to him when he jumps. It's not like Doc Everhart is going to find a volunteer to jump to their death. Well maybe he could but he didn't want to do jail time for the love of science.

"Doc?"

"Well Angela….I believe you know Detective Bruno."

Angela smiled a weary smile, "Bruno, fancy meeting you here."

Bruno didn't even attempt a smile. He was pissed. "What do you think you're doing here?"

"Ask the mayor."

"Fabulous," Bruno rolled his eyes. "Just fabulous. Does he not know that you found the body and things being what they are I could and should consider you a suspect?"

"Oh really? Other than me finding the body— which F.Y.I. if I hadn't found it, it would be rotting in that bathroom as we speak because you had already written it off as a nothing situation – what kind of evidence do you have that says I offed the biddy?"

"ARGH! I give up! I fricken give the frick up!"

Angela is a head taller than Bruno and when they argued it looked like a Pit Bull and a Great Dane barking at each other. Doctor Everhart was watching them argue, "Fascinating." They turned to the doctor and he said, "Now if y'all are done, can we get down to business?"

They walked to the table where Minerva Saldivar's earthly remains lay in a state of exposed repose. Doctor Everhart turned to the body and began telling the story of Minerva's last moments in this realm.

"As you can see there is very little damage to the body, some post mortem bruising from being stuffed into the bathroom stall, nothing in the tox screen, there's some liver damage, I'm guessing she was a drinker, probably a binge drinker, the damage is not consistent with long-term consistent abuse of alcohol, her neck is broken but there is no bruising, not even subcutaneous bruising….nothing. But quite frankly, it wouldn't have taken a whole lot to break her neck. She has some really brittle bones."

Bruno and Angela took extensive notes and looked at the body with great professionalism. And they both came to the same conclusion, how could there not be any bruising around the break?

"You know Doc, I love you like an M.E. but I don't get how there's no bruising around the neck. I mean even if her neck just somehow snapped on its own wouldn't there be bruising from the trauma on the surrounding tissue?" Angela asked and Bruno nodded in accordance.

"That bruising is there but there are no bruises that indicate an object of any kind forcing that break. But there are no hand marks, not blunt object mark, nothing on the front of her body that looks like she was pushed into something to cause her break. Well at least none that have come up yet."

"Don't you need blood pulsing through the body to show bruising?" Bruno asked.

"Well here's the thing there should be more bruising seeing how old she is, but she doesn't have a whole lot of subcutaneous fat which would hold a bruise much better and it didn't take a lot to break her neck. So even just throwing an elbow to the right place could've snapped her."

"An elbow?" Angela was very perplexed.

"Yup, an elbow. Or even a ball-peen hammer, the little knob part of the hammer head could do it." He held out his arm bent to show his elbow as a weapon. "She's not very tall and she's really petite. There's not a whole lot of surface on my elbow, but it can be a blunt object used in a murder."

Bruno, exasperated, "Well so could a ball-peen hammer. It doesn't have a lot of surface either."

"Ah yes but there's follow through and the surface of a hammer is really smooth. Look I can throw an elbow and stop short of the follow through a hell of a lot easier than I could with a hammer. Follow me." He took them to his office at the back of the morgue. "I tried out the theory on this brick of clay. I set up the clay to where it would be if Minerva were standing. Now from my height, 5'11", this is what I got."

He showed them a hammer example. It showed a follow through that practically tore apart the clay. The swing was done with complete follow through. The wound was deep and would've been quite obvious. The second example was a hammer attack in which he tried to slow the momentum to stop short of follow through and you could see a couple of distinct marks, kind of like a bounce. Then he showed the elbow exemplar. The indention was small, it was there but small…even for an averaged sized man's elbow. There were no "bounce" marks or marks out of the bounds of the injury.

"So…" Bruno was trying to take it all in. "So, you're saying we're looking for a person of average height…"

Doctor Everhart interrupted, "Well no, a man of 5'11" is average….a woman, not so much."

They both looked at Angela. She is indeed 5'11" tall and she knew self-defense so throwing an elbow would be nothing new to her.

"Oh y'all have got to be kidding." She said with an indignant look.

Dr. Everhart laughed but Bruno looked serious. Too serious.

"What was the time of death, Doc?" Bruno said without taking his eyes off Angela.

"Little after 16 hundred." The medical examiner said.

"Oh now I know you're insane," Angela declared. "You cannot be that pissed at me for being here. We've worked cases together before."

"No, not 'together'. Never 'together.' You are working for some asshole tool of a lawyer, I work for the people."

"I work for the truth! And I work for it just as hard as you do! When are you going to realize that?!"

"And your people don't bend the truth?!"

"Are you telling me that the D.A. doesn't?!"

"OK, you two, that's enough," Things were getting entirely too hot in the doc's freezer like office. "Bruno, you know Angela did not kill this woman. Angela, you know how territorial Bruno gets, it's not personal."

Angela walked out the office door and then back in; her face was flush with anger and hurt. She wasn't going to cry. The hell with that. Bruno was pretending the tile floor was interesting. Dr. Everhart broke the silence, "So are we OK?" No answer. "Can we at least get back to work? I've done a lot of work on these clay exemplars. I don't want it going to waste."

"Fine." Angela said.

"Let's do this." Bruno added.

"So we're looking for a person of about 5 feet 11 inches tall, average build I would believe, no special skills necessary really."

"Did you find any skin, epithelials, threads, anything?" Bruno asked.

"Nothing. Nothing that's gonna tell you Person A did it. The only thing we could find the barest trace of lotion."

"What about a skin print from the elbow?" Angela inquired.

"Next to nothing. Really if the person didn't use lotion as often as they obviously do we would have more to work with as far as a print from the elbow. Rougher skin leaves a better print. This person takes care of their skin."

"Another mark against Angela," thought Bruno. She wore SPF lotion all the time. Being so fair and in the Texas sun a lot of the time, she needed to wear lotion. But he didn't dare say anything.

Angela read Bruno like a book, "So doc, did this lotion have any unusual markers such as a high SPF or rare properties that aren't in common lotions?"

Bruno looked at the floor again.

"Actually Angela, I couldn't tell so I sent it on to get a thorough look at its chemical make-up."

"OK well Dr. Everhart, we'll see ya when we see ya," Angela left for Humpy's without so much as a glance at Bruno.

After Angela left Dr. Everhart asked Bruno, "You can't really in your heart of hearts believe that Angela killed that woman."

"That's the part of my job I don't like. I can't rule out anything, no matter how ridiculous it sounds. She found the body, she knows how to throw an elbow in just the manner you described, she's the right height and she constantly wears lotion. Hell, she'll wear SPF 1,000 if there's a full moon outside. It's all circumstantial, I know but if it were anyone else, I'd have to look at them for this too," Bruno said. And it's true, had it been anyone else fitting all those markers it would be wise to like them for the murder.

"OK, but one poker buddy to another, don't be a dick about it," Dr. Everhart smiled.

"You're 5'11" right? Where were you yesterday afternoon say about 4:15?"

Dr. Everhart cocked his head and said, "Shut up and get out of here. Go find your murderer."

VIIII

Leesann Wilkins, the morning bartender at Humpy's, is a rather sloth like individual which worked out fine because the morning shift at the bar was super slow. She had time to do puzzles, her nails, her one actual regular customer….whatever she felt was useful to her at the time. She has big green eyes that were always at half mast and a head of strawberry blonde hair that was in a perpetual French braid down the back of her head and nearly reached her rear end. She was about 5'6" and slender build.

Angela came in to the building, Leesann let her nail file drop to the bar counter listlessly. "Hey Angela," she said with a wisp of a smile on her face and not much else. "What are you doing drinking so early?"

"Oh no, no drinking, working. You heard about the murder here last night?"

"Oh that, yeah."

"Yeah Leesann, 'That.' So I'm just going to be snooping around, can you get me a tea?"

"Texas or Long Island?"

Angela wanted to slap the stupid out of her, wasn't the first time either.

Angela looked at her, unblinking and then Leesann snapped, "Ohhhhhhhh riiiiiiiiight you're working. Yeah. Gotcha, the tea without the booze…yeah. Haha."

"Oh and can I have the key to the closet in the ladies?"

"Surrrrrre," Leesann said and handed her a long leather lanyard with a key at the end of it and a gigantic Styrofoam cup of tea and went back to filing her nails. No one else was in the bar. Angela left for the bathroom. It had long been cleared as a crime scene, but one never knows what may be kicked up, something may be missed. Desperation makes optimists of everyone.

She looked at the broken mirror. She knew it had been there for quite some time, some girl drunker than all get out stumbled to and fro heading to the loo to throw up hit her head on mirror on her way through the door. The bad thing about all that was she barely had one drink. The bar later found out someone had roofied her. No one was ever accused because she wasn't sure who was next to her. She was there alone and texting with a friend. She wasn't watching her environment and no one paying attention until she struggled to find her way to the bathroom. Then they thought she was just some wasted chick. Little did they know there was a predator among them.

Later that night another girl went missing and no one put two and two together until they found out about the roofied girl. Already in almost two months time the law had been to Humpy's for one investigation or another.

No one put Minerva's death together with the missing girl because the missing girl was 23 years old. She too was a tiny woman. But she was white, dirty blonde hair and pale blue eyes. The missing girl was said to be fun-loving and a little promiscuous. So her coloring, ethnicity, age and personality were the complete opposite of Minerva's. That they were both female and at the same bar that was it as far as similarities got. No one was even sure if the missing girl was dead.

Angela put her tea on the counter by the sink and began to think.

She looked at the storage closet, "It had been locked so no one could've been hiding there…well unless they had a key, then that could be an employee or a regular….we all know where the keys are…hmmm." She unlocked the closet. There were chemicals in there and cleaning equipment and some boxes of stuff. And gravel…little pebbles of gravel. Not completely unusual except they made a little trail to back corner where there lay a tiny pile of clothes, blood stained clothes.

Angela photographed the gravel bits, the pile of clothing and every bit of that closet. She put her gloves on and poked around in the boxes without moving them too much. Nothing. No weapon that she could see. No other clothing. No body, of course had there been a body it would have stunk up the joint long before Minerva had stepped one foot in the bar.

Angela pulled out her cell phone and pressed one digit and hit send.

"Bruno."

"Hey Bruno, its Angela I'm at Humpy's…I found something you need to see."

"On my way." Bruno hung up.

He'd be here in minutes so she stepped out to warn Leesann, "Do not use the ladies room right now. I've got stuff in there."

"Stuff?"

"Just use the bathroom in the office if you have to go, OK?"

"K."

Through her sunglasses Angela concentrated hard on the sky. She watched clouds pass as she thought her way through murder, "Minerva comes in, raises hell, makes quite an impression, not a great one but everyone noticed her…she ends up in the storage stall upside down and her neck broke from a single shot from an elbow apparently. But first young woman went missing, I'm assuming those are her clothes in there, if I remember the reports correctly she was quite the wild little thing. Had some of the boys' tongues hanging out. But the roofied girl…oh yeah…asked a lot of questions…no one really remembered her though…but she knew everyone. So she was connected somehow but forgettable. Hmmmm…maybe she asked too many questions. Attention getters? This is this guy's type? If it's just one guy and really who's to say it's not a woman? Oy vey…"

Just then Bruno pulled up in his department issued vehicle.

"What'cha got?"

"A pile of bloody clothes in the storage closet."

"The locked one?"

"Yep."

"I had them open it last night."

"Well come on lets go look," Angela said. She lead him to the back and Leesann perked up when she saw Bruno. Boy if that wasn't her type…breathing that is.

They got into the bathroom and Bruno went to the closet and saw the gravel bits and the trail to the pile of clothes.

"You didn't touch this did you?"

"Seriously, Bruno?"

"I gotta ask. O.C.D. you know…"

"More like A. S. S."

He smiled. They were back on good terms.

"So you had them unlock it and there was nothing in here? No gravel…anything?"

Bruno looked at her, "No I completely ignored the gravel and the pile of bloody clothes. Who's the ass now?"

"Sorry, I just can't think of how or when this could have happened."

"It's just so fuckin' jumbled."

"I think it all started a month ago or so. A girl was roofied here, she crashed into the mirror over there. She was asking a lot of questions about a lot of the regulars but no one seemed to know her. Then a girl went missing that same night, I'm guessing these are her clothes, they're really little and she was really petite. She was drunk and loud, had all the men going crazy. Then there's Minerva. She made quite the splash here, not in a good way but still, she was loud, obnoxious…"

"So, because these women were, one way or another, attention whores, they were killed?"

Angela corrected Bruno, "No, two were attention whores and were killed. I'm assuming the missing girl is dead though we have no body. The first girl was roofied, maybe with the intent of murdering her later. Somehow I think her questions started this whole thing."

"Damn it."

"Yeah I just complicated the hell out of both our lives."

"I hate you right now."

"I know, Sweetie, I know."

"Alright, I'm going to call the lab boys in and see what's going on there," Bruno said pointing to the closet. "I'm gonna have them pull out every little scrap and take it down to the lab. I'm not going to be blind sided again."

"OK, well nothing really for me to do here. I'm going to get on down to the office and see what Waylon says. Talk later."

"Lates."

Angela was walking out with her tea and thinking. "Were the clothes there before? Were they there the entire time that girl has been missing? Could they have been? I've seen people clean the ladies room. They had the closet open and nothing, not that anyone was looking for anything that was weird or out of place and there certainly wasn't a pile of bloody clothes. But they were in the back corner….had I not seen the gravel, would I have looked back in the corner? ARGH!!! All these what about's and what if's! FAHK! Oh just follow the evidence. Don't muddy the water."

She was chewing on the straw more than she was sucking up that honey made sweet tea.

She felt a tap on her shoulder.

"Onetta! Sorry, lost in thought."

"Woman, if you were any more lost in thought, you'd disappear."

"OOO don't say disappear. There's been too much of that lately."

"I heard y'all had some excitement here last evenin'. What's that the second time in as many months."

"That's what its beginning to look like. Although last night was definitely a murder, the other girl…well there's still hope she's alive."

"Oh Aaangelaah," Onetta's drawl was showing. "You know that poor little thing isn't alive. It's been a month."

"While I am afraid you may be right, I'm going to keep an open mind on it."

"Well, doll, you do as you feel. I gotta get home and carve up my catch."

"Oh what did you get?"

"Some drum and red fish. We're going to eat good tonight. Y'all comin' over tonight for fish?"

"Sure. I think we're all meeting up here about 4:30 and then eatin' 5:30/6. I got a text earlier from Phillip."

"That's the plan," Onetta said with a wink.

"Bye now." Angela noticed that her own drawl grew significantly more obvious when Onetta was around. Add Onetta plus beer and really she was just as incomprehensible as Chase Landress.

Angela jumped in her Jeep and headed back to Waylon's office. Green Day was on the radio. Angela sung along…

I heard it all before

So don't knock down my door

I'm a loser and a user so I don't need no accuser

to try and flag me down because I know you're right

So go do what you like

Make sure you do it wise

You may find out that your self-doubt means nothing

was ever there

You can't go forcing something if it's just

not right

"You can't go forcing something if it's just not right…" Angela repeated. "Yeah you can't." She turned off the radio and glided into her space. She grabbed up her messenger bag and got upstairs.

Erma buzzed Waylon, "I hear Angela on the stairs."

"OK, I'm ready for her."

"Hey Erma!"

"Hello, Angela. Mr. McBride is ready for you."

"Thanks!" Angela glided through the door, "Hey boss!"

"Hmmm, why so bouncy?"

"Got an attitude adjustment from a song. But I am about to throw a wrench in the works."

"Fabulous. I love wrenches. They make big fat loopholes."

"Yeah…that they do." Angela recounted the bloody clothes and her attention whore theory.

Waylon sat for a while, his many chins rested quietly upon one another. "So you're saying because these people were loud or annoying they were killed?"

"Well not simply because they were loud or annoying but there was a trigger, right now I'm just piecing together. It may add up to nothing in the end. It's just these people were putting a big target on their backs by drawing attention to themselves, unknowingly of course."

"Sure. I see what you're saying but still…"

"OK, well it's kind of like….hmmmm….. well, OK, here we go, in a neighborhood bar situation you have a group of regulars who are territorial. Then you have someone coming in asking questions about the regulars. Nothing scandalous, but worrying none the less, evidently. I think that was the trigger."

"Oh my darlin' girl…you are going to have to shed a little more light if you want me to buy that bull."

Angela set her face with distinct determination. "OK…stick with me here…The trigger hears what's going on and whatever and it sets him/her off. Now, his main target, the question asker, drinks down the roofie but she fights it….good for her by the way… and she makes it to the bathroom, passing out there. Now he can't take her out of there and drag her through a crowded bar at happy hour and go off and kill her. Nope. He's stuck. She's on the floor and he's stuck. He waits. The ambulance finally arrives and takes her out. The cops come and ask questions. They blow it off as an accidental O.D. even though the bartender told them she only had the one drink."

"OK, so far, I'm seeing where you're heading, but keep going."

"So, she gets taken to the hospital. Most of the bar has cleared but then the 7 p.m. shift at the hospital lets out and it steadily fills back up. Then our missing girl, Amy Hernandez, is getting drunker and drunker and louder and louder. Evidently she is a friend of a nurse at the hospital. She'd just broken up with her long-time fiancée. Now she's there and she wants to prove what her fiancée lost out on, so she's shakin' her stuff. And it's not pleasant."

"I'm loving it." Waylon loved the way Angela told a story…proving it well that's another story.

"Now, somehow she's separated from the herd. The killer has been growing more and more restless because his target is gone and she would surely be watched closely if she ever came back to the bar. But his attention was caught by Hernandez. He had a new target. She was tiny. It didn't take much to get her drunk and it sure as hell wouldn't take a whole lot to get her out of the bar either."

Waylon cocked his head, "So it was someone who heard the questions that night. It was someone sitting next to the roofied girl, what's her name?"

"Belinda Ramirez, 22, originally from San Antonio" Angela answered. "This person didn't necessarily have to be sitting next to her. She was close to a wait station, so anyone could have gone by her, unnoticed pretty much and dropped something in her drink. Well she was texting, so she was distracted."

"Oh? Who was she texting and what were they texting?"

"According to the report, no one ever checked. And no, there are no surveillance cameras in Humpy's."

"Go talk to this young lady. I'm thinking it was someone who is not out of place at this bar. An employee, a regular….certainly can't be a stranger."

"Yep, I thought that too, in the beginning. But when you really think about bar culture, anyone who feels comfortable enough, or can act confidently enough can pull something off like that easily and not be noticed. All it takes is sleight of hand."

"So we're nowhere? Go talk to the young lady. Her memory is cold enough we don't need it any colder."

"Yes'sir."