Sam And The Junkman, A New Jersey Murder Mystery

By Marilyn Salzano

Sam and the Junkman, A New Jersey Murder Mystery is jam-packed with Italians, Hungarians, Food, and Murder.
After escaping from a toxic relationship and rural backwoods boredom, sci-fi artist Sam Dvorshak runs back home to New Jersey and family. She immediately hooks up with her long time pal Tony DeFranco, a cool and handsome Italian dude who buys and sells junk. Their first time out together Tony takes her to his favorite dumpsite where they stumble upon a gruesome murder and plunge into an investigation that leads them to obnoxious suspects, hobos, big dogs, and Aunt Vilma. Getting no respect, they diligently forge ahead battling death threats, shadowy giants, and age discrimination to finally uncover the identity of the fiend who committed the heinous and grisly homicide.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Marilyn Salzano
• Release date: Oct 27, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310275449

Marilyn Salzano

Marilyn Salzano grew up in New Jersey and is of Polish/Hungarian decent. She has been a painter and storyteller often writing stories to go along with her paintings. Now she writes full time and paints the covers for her books. The art mentioned in this book are her own original paintings. Several of her short stories have won honorable mention awards in the prestigious 'Writer's of the Future Contest'. Marilyn lives in upstste New York with her husband Joe.

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SAM AND THE JUNKMAN

A NEW JERSEY MURDER MYSTERY

By

MARILYN SALZANO

Copyright © 2015 Marilyn Salzano

All rights reserved

Distributed by Smashwords

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Cover art and design by Marilyn Salzano

Neilson Street Blues by Marilyn Salzano

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Dedication

To Joe, my husband, editor, and encourager. Thank you for believing in me. To my daughters, Sue and Jeanne, for their love and support. And my brother Mike who said at the very beginning, Write.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

CHAPTER 1

What in the world is this? griped Roland, my soon-to-be ex-boyfriend as he lifted up the dripping square of meat with his fork. It looks like a soggy slab of sawdust. He plopped it down onto his plate and began shredding it with his fork. There’s no veggies in it. He carefully set down his fork and knife and stared at me with dark humorless eyes.

There’s no veggies because it’s a meat—loaf, I said, through a mouthful of delicious diner food.

I thought you ordered soy loaf. I wanted a vegetarian meal. You know how I am about my food. It has to be high quality and carefully prepared.

It is carefully prepared. Look how nice they arranged the food on your dish. There’s five baby carrots, a pile of peas, and a beautiful mound of mashed potatoes and gravy.

Whatever. He sighed, picked at his carrots and went back to examining the New Jersey road map. Yawn, one of his many passions.

I’m Samantha Dvorshak, newly reinstated back home in New Jersey with Mom and Pop after a grueling year of Roland and backwoods cow granola country. Right now, we’re sitting in a booth at Dino’s Diner in my hometown, Little Creek, New Jersey. It’s dinnertime and the place is filling up.

I watched him carefully trace his finger over the highway system on the map. My interest level dropped to my shoes as he went on and on about the difference between the red solid road lines and the red dotted ones. I knew this was preliminary small talk before the ‘Let’s give it another chance’ lecture. I figured I’d meet with him this one last time, since he did drive five hours to get here, and tell him again, firmly, that as far as I’m concerned this relationship is muerto y enterrado, dead and buried.

I just know I’m going to have a stomachache later on. I should have brought my father with me. There’s no mistaking his meaning when he tells you something.

Roland painstakingly folded up the map until it looked like it had never been used.

I need to find a way home that’s faster than the three hour drive through this congested beehive you love so much. I don’t know how you can stand living here. There are too many buildings, cars, and people. Way too many people.

I like all this.

You would, you’ve always been flaky.

Me flaky? I leaned across the red Formica tabletop. Hey, at least my friends don’t wear gunny sacks, pray to tree goddesses and do fifth level chakra regeneration, whatever that is.

It’s the raising of your spiritual awareness.

My spiritual awareness rose the instant I crossed the state line. I became aware of how good it was to be home. I leaned back and glanced over to the diner entrance as a group of guys walk in. I rated them from mediocre to semi homely. Then I spotted this vaguely familiar straggler. What’s this? I’m riveted. My eyes scanned his taller than six foot frame from his black motorcycle boots, his low slung jeans, his black guinea tee shirt revealing long lean muscular arms covered in manly tattoos. My eyes moved up to his chiseled chin, sensuous mouth, and black sunglasses. I lingered on his ear, studded with five silver skulls, and his twelve-inch fuchsia and green spiked mohawk. Wow, I’m alive and turned on. Who would have guessed that this magnificent strutting rooster would kick start my libido.

What are you staring at? Roland’s voice ripped me from happy land.

Huh?

I said what’s so interesting?

Oh, isn’t that guy weird looking?

Ronald glanced over. Yeah, a real freak.

Next thing I know, the freak’s standing next to me.

Sam?

I looked up at him, gulped and squeaked, Yes?

It’s me Tony,

Tony?

He pulled off the sunglasses. Come on girl, the last time I saw you was graduation when we, ah, borrowed old Chrome Dome’s car and went to Seaside Park.

Chrome Dome was our high school principal.

Tony! I screamed and jumped up almost knocking the table over. I wrapped my arms around him and hugged him tight. The people in the diner stopped eating, spoons halfway to their mouth. I didn’t recognize you with the mohawk and the shades.

I like to change up my image from time to time. So, Sam baby, how long has it been?

Couple of years.

He looked me up and down. You look gooood. He slouched, weaved side to side and bounced his hands, palms up, in front of him. It’s the New Jersey way of showing appreciation.

Thanks, I said, weaving and bouncing too. That means we’re simpatico.

I almost forgot that I was good-looking, living in a town where cute meant shapeless sack dresses, no bras or makeup, hairy legs and the big night out is hanging around the health food store. And why are all those health nuts so scrawny and unhealthy looking?

I’m five-foot-eight, slim, with hazel eyes, and shoulder length light brown hair with red gold highlights. People tell me I’m reasonably attractive. I looked the word reasonably up in the thesaurus. It means relatively, moderately or somewhat. I think I’m better looking than that. But lately, I’ve been feeling like a slab of sawdust myself, until now.

Ahem. Roland was staring bullets at me.

Oh, sorry. Tony, this is my friend, Roland.

Friend? He glared at me. I swear I saw steam rising from his semi-bald head.

After I almost graduated art school I moved upstate to get into the country thing. Big mistake. Like my friend Rosie said, Honey, you can’t talk to the trees.

When I first met Roland, he was lean, energetic with a full head of wavy black hair. Now he’s the exact opposite. Sometimes I wonder where the real Roland is. We were introduced by a now defunct friend at a composting festival. I didn’t know it had to do with rotting vegetables. I thought it was a composing festival and there would be music and maybe a merry-go-round.

Hey, Dude. Tony held out his hand.

Roland looked at it for a minute, sighed and acquiesced to give him a limp shake. Tony sat down at the table without an invitation. So, babe. You don’t mind if I call her babe, do you Ronald?

It’s Roland.

So, babe, what’s new? Roland sat there with his objection hanging in his open mouth.

Nothing, not for a long time now. Roland did a double insult twitch.

Are you home for good or just visiting?

Home for good.

Where are you staying?

My parent’s house.

Same phone number?

Yes, I said, quietly. I thought Roland’s black eyes would drill a hole in my head.

A fierce pounding reverberated from across the room. I gotta go. The boys want to order. If they don’t get food soon things will get rough.

Will they get rowdy and turn tables over? I asked, hopefully.

No, Jeremy will experience low blood sugar and get mopey. Petey and Hans will just go home and eat.

I turned and stared at the motley crew Tony had come in with. Oh, okay, I said, disappointed.

Tony fished a pencil stub from his pocket and tore off a piece of my paper placemat. I’m gonna give you my phone number. Call me, he ordered. He leaned close to my ear. You do look good. He straightened up and smacked Roland on the back. It’s been a blast.

I watched him walk away. I sighed and turned back to Roland. He sat there in white face fury. What was that all about?

"What?’

Are you attracted to him or something?

No, I am not attracted to him or something.

Well you sure acted like it.

I’ve known him since I was a baby. He’d come over with his dad, dump all my toys out of my toy box and refuse to pick them up. We’ve been best friends ever since. That’s all.

Yeah?

Yeah.

Well, I don’t like it one bit. He was way too friendly.

Hey, remember we’re not together anymore, I said twirling my finger between us. Anyway, that’s the New Jersey way. We are a very gregarious people. But of course I can’t expect you to understand that being from Cowabunga county where your closest neighbor is only a cow chip throw away.

Hey, that’s my home.

Yeah, I can tell.

He stared at me for a minute. Eat.

Oh brother, it’s going to be one of those monosyllabic nights.

#

So, after explaining to Roland once again that we are forever not together and waving farewell, I walked the five blocks to my house. It was evening but it hadn’t cooled down. There were still gooey tar spots on the diner’s parking lot. A gust of wind loaded with dust from this summer’s drought suddenly materialized into half pint whirlwinds decked out with candy wrappers, blowout sale flyers, and brown dried up leaves. Sort of like Hobo Christmas trees, only upside down.

Abruptly the wind stopped and the tattered decorations drifted to the ground. Heat waves shimmered in the still air. It must be near ninety degrees. It was the middle of October. Where was the rain for crying out loud?

The sun dipped below the buildings and the air cooled a bit. Big fluffy clouds of pinks, lavender, and gold filled the sky. It’s the pollution. It makes for spectacular sunsets. The streetlights winked on. People sat on their porches enjoying the evening air and kids played hide-and-go-seek and other kid games on the lawns. I waved to a few of my neighbors and fetched a Frisbee for a kid. When I got home I just stood there staring at our house. It’s a blue and peach Victorian painted lady with a wrap around porch.

Pop yelled out the window. Samantha, what are you doing out there?

Staring at our beautiful house. I walked up the steps, patted our fat black Kitty’s head, and went inside.

Hi sweetie. Are you hungry? Mom asked.

"No thanks, I just ate.

So, where were you?

I was at the diner with Roland. I told him not to bother me anymore.

I hope it sticks because next time your father will have something to say to him.

I know.

I don’t want to see him in this town anymore, Pop hollered from the living room.

Honey, this isn’t Dodge and you’re not the sheriff.

Sheriff Franklin owes me one.

#

I woke up Saturday morning to the smell of percolating coffee and bacon frying. Oh, it was good to be home. I stretched and luxuriated in my cozy bed. I had everything I needed in life right here: my laptop, a little TV set, an easel, and my paintings. I paint pictures for the covers of sci-fi magazines.

My drafting table was in front of the window so I could look out and spy on the neighborhood while I worked. I’m a regular Mrs. Kravitz.

I rolled out of bed, shuffled into the bathroom, splashed water on my face, gargled, and slumped downstairs to the kitchen.

Good morning, Mom said, from the stove. Want something to eat?

You bet. I piled my plate with a good old-fashioned American breakfast of eggs, bacon, and hash browns. Mom handed me a plate of rolled-up Palacsinta, a Hungarian crepe. Some people fill them with fruit, meat, or calves brains. We like them dusted with confectioner’s sugar. I groaned with pleasure as I bit into it.

Roland would only eat organic, non-fat, non-dairy, eggless, meatless meals. For a Polish Hungarian American it was true tasteless torment. I believe that eating that kind of food would have eventually made me lose my New Jersey moxie.

My mother looked me up and down. "You’re too thin. You’re going to stay here with us until you’re fattened up.

I’m not going to argue with that, I said, through a mouthful of crepes.

She sat down across from me and sipped her coffee. My mom was tall like me and had the same color hair, although hers was mixed with gray. She had the softest kindest eyes I’ve ever seen except when she got mad. Then look out. She’s always threatened me and my brother Frankie with, ‘Wait till your dad gets home’. But she was the one that gave it to us when we were bad.

I’m glad you’re home, honey. We never liked Roland. He wasn’t good for you.

I know, Ma. I’m glad I’m home too. I missed you.

She came over and gave me a hug.

Oh, Tony called.

My ears perked up.

He said he’d stop over later.

When?

Ten.

I looked at the clock. Uh oh, it was already quarter to nine. I better get ready.

I ran upstairs, showered in record time, dried my hair, then pulled on my jeans with the sequined butt pockets and a burgundy tee shirt with a picture of the starship Enterprise. Yeah, I’m a Trekkie.

I did my eyes and just finished with my plum lip-gloss when the doorbell rang.

I’ll get it, I yelled, flying down the stairs. I opened the door and stared. Wow, who’s this good looking, clean cut, six-foot-two hunk.

Well, can I come in? Tony was wearing a black Godzilla tee shirt and jeans.

Where’s your Mohawk?

He reached into his pocket, pulled out this long stringy, hairy thing, and tossed it to me.

Eek. It looks like a giant centipede. Very manly. I flung it back at him.

I only wear it when I’m out with the boys. I slick my hair back and clip it on. He slid it through the hair on the top of his head and fastened it. It drooped over to one side. It needs hairspray. He took it off and put it back in his pocket.

I see you still have the skull paraphernalia.

He peeled them off his ears and held them out to me. They’re paste-ons. Most of us have regular jobs. Jeremy’s a bank manager, Petey does puppy training classes and Hans sells shoes. He shrugged. We can’t go around looking like freaks all day.

We stared at each other for a moment. I missed you, he said.

Yeah, me too.

Things just weren’t the same without you.

He was talking about the bizarre and ridiculous adventures we frequently stumbled into before I went off to college. I like to think I’m normal. I brush my teeth, watch TV and eat pizza regularly. But it seems the universe has other plans. I mean, like stuff happens. Somehow the ebb and flow of everyday life inevitably maneuvers me toward the freakish and bizarre, the crackpots, the fringers, the friends of the friendless. I don’t ask for this stuff, but I don’t run away from it either. Why would I?

You want to go for a drive?

Sure. I followed him out the door. The sun was shining and the little birdies were busy packing their bags to head south.

Whew, another scorcher, he said, shading his eyes against the sun. Well, there she is.

It was the latest model of the penultimate man truck: huge, dead black and raised up on giant tires.

Man, that’s a real road hog. It’s beautiful. I love it.

Thanks.

I’ll need a step ladder to get in the thing.

He gave me a leg up and I hopped in. So, where to? I asked, propping my new pink Keds on the dashboard.

Hmm. Tony rubbed his chin and smacked my leg.

Ow, that stung.

I know just the place. You’ll love it.

What place?

You’ll see.

#

It was unusually clear and hot for this time of year. Red and gold leaves shined against the cerulean sky. It was a gorgeous day for a ride. We drove down my street, turned left onto Old Main, then cruised out of town, past the cemetery, fields of golden wheat, and a horse farm. Young horses, just born this spring, galloped around the misty meadows.

Contrary to the rumors out-of-staters spread, Jersey is a gorgeous place. Why else would it be called the garden state? Just try the peaches, blueberries and beefsteak tomatoes. And the corn. Oy yoy yoy! You’ll never leave or if you do, you’ll kill to get back.

Tony turned right off the main highway onto a single lane dirt road. The truck rattled and rocked side to side as it bounced over the ruts.

My head slammed into the roof. Hey, slow down. I looked out the window. On either side were deep dark woods. I glanced at Tony. He was grinning and having a good time. Hmm, I haven’t seen this guy in a while. He might have changed. Did he join a terrorist group? Are a couple of years enough time for someone to go mental? Now that I think about it, all his family and friends are dark and swarthy. I inched over closer to the door.

Is this a kidnapping? I calmly asked.

What? He looked at me and nearly slammed into a tree. Are you serious? Yes, Dagmar, I’m going to kidnap you and demand that your father gives me a lifetime supply of Cheetos. Then I can move to Costa Rica and walk the beach with my metal detector for the rest of my life. Jeez. He shook his head and stared out at the road.

He only calls me Dagmar when he’s annoyed with me. I don’t know why.

Ha ha, only kidding. I said. My imagination is a blessing and a curse.

We drove around a bend in the road, past a pond and skidded to a stop. A cloud of dust billowed around the car.

Here we are.

Where’s here? I stared through the settling dust. I didn’t know what I was looking at.

Tony jumped out of the truck and grabbed a shovel out of the back. Uh oh.

Come on.

I just sat there. He came around to my side, opened the door and hauled me out of the truck, through a bunch of weeds, and up a small mound.

Maybe he is nuts. Maybe I’m out in the middle of the woods with a crazy person. I’m not very brave. Only sometimes when I lose my temper or I see someone hurting a kitty cat. Mostly I get the willies over anything strange and my imagination makes up for the rest of it. It doesn’t help that I watch a lot of sci-fi and monster movies.

I dug in my heels. I will not go down without a fight.

What’s the matter with you? He let go of my hand and started digging vigorously throwing dirt all over the place. The soil was dark and mixed with yellow clay. A shovelful struck my leg.

Hey, watch it.

He didn’t dig long before we heard a metallic clink.

Wow, look at this. He bent down and pulled out a clump of clay with a weird metal object imbedded in it.

What is it?

I don’t know but it’s cool and bizarre, he said, shaking off the dirt.

I looked around. Old tires, a washing machine and other junk were sticking out of the ground. Oh, I get it. This is an old dump site.

Of course it is. What’d you think it was?

I didn’t know.

Didn’t I tell you I’m in the antique slash junk business?

No.

Isn’t this great? He waved across the lumpy terrain.

As I looked closer I could see surreal shapes poking up out of the ground.

"I bet Rufus never took you to the dump?’

No, this would be too barbaric for Roland. He would rather play a rousing game of dominos.

Wow, are you talking about those giant Japanese dominos that are as tall as a man and are set up under water in Olympic sized pools?

No, Tony, not the giant dominos. The little ones that you buy in the drug store for three bucks.

Oh, too bad. I thought we had something in common there for a minute.

I took the contraption and turned it over. Maybe it’s some kind of kitchen gadget.

Who knows, it could be anything. I’ll take it home and look it up. I have a book of obscure inventions of the last three hundred years. He looked out across the dump. This property’s been in my uncle’s family for almost that long. He doesn’t let anyone dig here but me. I’m his favorite.

Let me take a picture of it. I took out my camera. Hold it up and point to it. I took a couple of shots. He looked over my shoulder as I played the images back.

Hey, I look pretty good, huh? He frowned and then squinted. What’s that in the background?

It was big, black, and had four legs. A pony?

We turned around. That’s no pony, he said That’s Batman, my Uncle Carmine’s Great Dane.

What’s that he’s burying? A log?

Tony walked over to the dog. Whatcha got there, boy?

Batman wagged his tail and barked. We walked closer. He still looked like a pony to me. A scary pony with big sharp teeth.

Tony pulled his shirt up over his nose. Man, what’s that smell?

We stood staring at the thing Batman had buried.

Oh, boy, that’s no log. I said.

#

I couldn’t believe what we were looking at. Sticking out of the garbage pile, surrounded by a Cocoa Krispies box, soup cans and an old Christmas wreath, was a human leg. It was wearing blue and white moo cow pajamas.

Tony asked. You think he’s dead?

Why do you assume it’s a he? I asked.

Because that’s a big foot attached to a really hairy leg. He put his foot next to it. "It’s bigger than mine and I wear a size eleven and a half.

It’s got to be dead. You think there’s a body connected to it?

Go find out.

You go find out.

No, you.

I picked up a stick and poked the leg. I turned to Tony. It feels gushy.

Do it again, he whispered.

Okay, I whispered back. Why are we whispering? I pushed the stick harder. The leg fell sideways with a wet plop, rolled off the pile and landed under the dog’s head. Batman bent down, licked it and looked up at us happily, wagging his tail. He proceeded to bury it again.

Ah, that ain’t right, said Tony, looking kind of green.

Oh God, oh God. I ran past Tony and jumped into the car. He jumped in right behind me. There’s a legless body around here and I don’t want to be tripping over it. I stared out the window at the moose-like dog kicking dirt over the leg.

Tony didn’t say anything for a minute. He turned to me with a curious look on his face. I know those pajamas.

What?

I said I know those pajamas. He pounded his temples. But from where?

This is terrible. I’m calling the cops. I pulled out my phone and dialed 911. Here, I said handing him the cell. You tell them where we are because I don’t have a clue.

Fifteen minutes later, blue and red lights flashing,