A Phone to Kill For

By Paul Hillman

A Phone To Kill For

The last thing fun-loving insurance agent Charlie Smythington worries about is death. He's too busy making a living and enjoying Portland's social scene.

But when Charlie goes on a routine sales call to help Sonya

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sync Publishing Inc.
• Release date: Jul 21, 2022
• ISBN: 9781088050507

Book preview

A Phone to Kill For

A picture containing pen, writing implement, stationary Description automatically generated

By

Paul Hillman

Logo Description automatically generated

Sync Publishing Inc.

P O Box 5215

Aloha, OR 97006-5215

[e-mail]

Charlie Smythington Mystery Series:

Book 1

© 2020 Paul E Hillman. All rights reserved.

Revised 2022

Cover art and Design by Kavin King

A Phone To Kill For is a work of fiction.

Names, characters, places, and incidents are products

of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally.

Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons,

living or dead is entirely coincidental.

ISBN: 978-1-7361253-0-4

Chapter One

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Charlie parked his old, beat-up Jaguar XKE in front of Something Special Too, a small, used-clothing shop on Milwaukie Avenue. He was disappointed. His hopes for a large sale from a thriving, successful business vanished. It didn’t even look profitable. It was too small, on a primarily residential street, and its plain exterior and small sign weren’t appealing. But in the insurance business, any prospect was better than no prospect, and he couldn’t afford to be choosy. He got his portfolio from the passenger seat and walked to the entry door.

As he entered, bells jingled, setting the mood for the store – old-fashioned and quaint. He walked past neatly organized ranks of dresses, blouses, pants, and women’s apparel and several display cases of costume jewelry, knick-knacks, and other accessories. It was ultra-feminine but in a pleasant, non-pushy way that felt comfortable. He started enhancing his evaluation of the store even before he saw her standing behind a counter at the back. He smiled and walked briskly toward her.

You must be Charlie Smythington, she said with a surprisingly soft, mellow voice. She had blonde hair and blue eyes and wore a summery dress prominently displaying three inches of significant cleavage. Her eyes brightened as she scanned his black, wavy hair, blue eyes, and six-foot-one trim body in a dark blue suit and bright tie.

Yes, are you Sonja Weyman?

Yes. She nodded and gave him a big, friendly smile.

Nice store. Charlie put his portfolio on the counter and smiled as he looked around. How’s business?

Pretty good so far this summer. I do better when there’s lots of foot traffic on the street.

How long have you been in business?

About three years.

Who is your current liability insurance with? Charlie took an application from his portfolio and a pen from his pocket.

She squirmed and looked down. I had insurance until about a year ago, but it lapsed.

Charlie smiled and nodded. I understand. That’s not unusual, but I imagine your lease requires you to have coverage, correct?

Yes, but I only want a quote today.

No problem. Let me ask you a few questions, and I’ll get you a quote.

In his usual charming and eloquent manner, Charlie asked the questions needed to fill in the application and took a picture of her lease where it stated her insurance requirements. All the while, Sonja arranged items on a tray for her display case, frequently glancing at him and smiling or blushing in response to Charlie’s banter.

Okay, that’s all I need to get you a quote. It will take a day or two, and then I’ll come back and review it with you.

Thank you, Charlie. I appreciate it.

He checked his watch. Say, it’s almost six o’clock. Would you like to have a drink after work? I know this great place on the river, McKiver’s, with happy hour until seven o’clock.

Her eyes immediately said she was interested, and she smiled. Yes, I’d like that. But I have to close first. Can I meet you there?

He grinned. Sure. Do you know where it is?

She grinned back. Yes, I’ll only be a few minutes.

Sounds good. I’ll see you there. Charlie smiled as he walked to his car.

* * * * *

McKiver’s wooden deck, festively decorated with garlands and tiny little lights, extended over the Willamette River and had a boat landing below it. After midnight, the bandstand was empty, but there was romantic, recorded music. A waiter lingered near the restaurant’s door if they wanted anything else.

Charlie and Sonja slowly danced on the small dance floor. He wasn’t sure if he was holding her or she was holding him, but sometimes he was leading, and she followed, and other times he seemed to be following her lead. Either way, he enjoyed feeling her pressed against him. Occasionally, they wandered too close to the tables, and he guided her back onto the floor.

Hey, you feel good, he said.

Mmm, you too, she murmured.

He thought he had stopped dancing while the music changed tunes, but everything seemed to keep moving. She suddenly clutched him, and he held her.

Are we still… dancing? she asked.

No, we’re going home.

She giggled and looked into his eyes. You know where I live?

I think so.

He wrapped his arm around her and headed to their table. Straying to the right, he corrected their course, and she giggled. He dropped a twenty on the table and picked up her purse and his coat and tie. Supporting each other, they meandered to the door.

Thank you, sir. Would you like me to call you a cab? the waiter asked as he held the door open for them.

No, thanks. I’ll take her home. It isn’t far.

Charlie had to concentrate and hold her tightly as they slowly meandered to his car. With every wobble, Sonja giggled, but they eventually made it. She leaned against the car as he opened the door for her, then she dropped onto the passenger seat of his old, beat-up Jaguar XKE convertible and laughed as he tucked her dress inside to close the door. A little tipsy himself, he carefully extracted his portfolio from under the driver’s seat and looked up her home address on the insurance application.

Driving slow with the top down, the cool wind seemed to revive Sonja. She sat up straighter and gazed at him with a dazed but pleasant smile as she fluffed her hair. Oh, the wind feels so good, she crooned.

Yes, a little pick-me-up! He chuckled.

Sonja laughed and leaned against the door. The wind puffed up the top of her dress, and she undid several more buttons to enjoy it more fully.

Charlie was glad her house was only a few blocks away. Any farther, and he might not have made it. Parking at the curb in front of her home, the door seemed a mile away across a long yard.

Easing her gently away from the car door, he opened it and helped her out of the car. She swayed, and Charlie held her as he closed the door with his hip. Okay, walk with me. Let’s get you home. She chuckled and clung to him as they meandered a step to the left or right for every step forward. When they arrived at the porch, they had to take one stair step at a time but made it to the front door. Are your keys in your purse?

Sonja giggled and nodded.

After finding her keys, he opened the door and helped her inside. She lunged forward and leaned on the back of an overstuffed leather chair as he closed the door and locked it again.

I want some wine. You want some wine? Sonja said with an enticing grin.

Sure, why not? As she walked into the kitchen, Charlie watched as she staggered from the chair to the wall and then to other furniture. Looking around, he shuffled to the leather sofa and collapsed to catch his breath.

A minute later, Sonja returned to the living room like she had left, holding onto things to stay upright. She carried a bottle of burgundy, two glasses, and an opener. Collapsing next to Charlie on the sofa, she handed them to him. You open. She giggled again.

Charlie looked at her happy grin and nodded. It took a few minutes to get the cork out. Then, he poured a couple of inches of wine into each glass. Putting the bottle on the coffee table, along with his cell phone, he handed her a drink.

Here’s looking at you, kid. He thought he did his Bogart pretty well. She laughed.

He sipped the wine as she drank hers in one swallow and reclined even more. Leaning her glass against the sofa’s arm, she gazed at Charlie sensuously. Her unbuttoned dress revealed her large, enticing breasts.

Putting his wine glass on the table, he hungrily kissed her. She crushed him to her, kissing him even more passionately. After a few minutes of heated exploration, they parted, panting and breathless, and Sonja leaned forward to unbutton Charlie’s shirt.

He stood and helped her up. She reached behind her and unfastened the dress, letting it slide down and flutter to the floor. Smiling, she looked at him sensuously, wearing only tiny panties and a barely visible push-up bra.

Charlie took her into his arms and eagerly kissed her as she wrapped her arms around him and pressed against him. When they separated, Charlie quickly removed his shirt and let his pants slide down to join her dress on the floor. They playfully stumbled into the bedroom, laughingly helping each other out of their undergarments.

* * * * *

Charlie awoke in the cool, gray, dim light of early morning. Lying with half of his face buried in a soft pillow, he could barely get one eye open. Something lurked over him. When he squinted, trying to focus, blinding pain shot through his head. He closed his eye again until the pain subsided. Then, steeling himself for more pain, he raised his head to get both eyes working and squinted again. The lurking presence coalesced into a Tiffany lamp on a wooden nightstand. He blinked several times, but it didn’t go away. Beneath its shade and looking accusingly at him was a photograph of a middle-aged man with gray hair. In front of the picture was a bookmarked copy of Love’s Sweet Desire with a picture of a tanned, muscular man embracing a scantily clad blonde. Nearby, gold earrings snuggled up to an alarm clock.

He wasn’t home; he didn’t even have a nightstand in his bedroom.

He carefully rose into a half-push-up to see if he was alone. The comforter did not seem to have any unusual bumps, indicating a person was under it. He ventured a shallow breath, inhaling slowly and silently, and rose a little higher. The bed shifted; there was movement under the cover. A left hand with delicate, thin fingers and red fingernails appeared at the top of the comforter. He froze as it was pulled down, revealing ringlets of blonde hair concealing her face. Somehow, he had known there was a woman there. He was relatively sure of that even in his head-throbbing, hungover condition.

Charlie rolled onto his right side, pushed the fluffy comforter off, and slowly sat upright. His head felt like it had already split, and he grasped it in a futile attempt to keep it from coming apart. Little lightning bolts flashed somewhere deep inside his left eyeball. He started to whimper but remembered he was not alone. He wanted to leave silently without encountering whoever was in bed with him. Whoever it was, he wasn’t too pleased with his performance last night, whatever it was.

It took several deep breaths before Charlie could even think about getting up. He glanced around the dark room. His clothes made a trail into the bedroom from the next room, and unless he had started wearing lace undies and a sizeable matching bra, her clothes were intermingled with his own. His underwear was next to the bed. Although his head nearly came off, Charlie managed to grasp it and start dressing. His socks were next, and he sat carefully on a nearby chair to put them on.

The living room was even darker than the bedroom, and he squinted, trying to find his clothes. The dining room was to his left. Leather, over-stuffed chairs separated the dining room from the living room. A matching sofa was in front of a large window that let very little light into the room, and an oval coffee table was in front of it. His pants were in front of the sofa, and he steadied himself on the coffee table to pull them up. He found his shoes next to her dress under the coffee table, and his shirt was on the sofa. He pulled it on, stuffed it into his pants, and got his cell phone from the table. Her summery dress had a floral design that was familiar.

Vague memories stirred deep in what was left of his mind. A flood of images cascaded across his inner vision. Flashes of a pretty face smiling and laughing, blonde hair and blue eyes, and an inviting cleavage, displaying abundant breasts that jiggled whenever she laughed. Kisses and warm caresses while slowly dancing in the moonlight. Afterward, refreshing wind on his face as he drove with the top down. The images dissipated in the throbbing pain of reality.

He checked his pockets to make sure his wallet and keys were there. He looked around one more time but didn’t see anything else belonging to him.

Oh, my God! Her ragged, raspy voice shattered the silence of the room. Oh God!

Charlie turned toward the bedroom. She sat on the bed, clutching the comforter to her as she stared at him with big, frightened eyes like he was an intruder. The ringlets of her hair were disarrayed. Hi. His voice was a baritone frog croak, so he cleared his throat. Hi, how are you? He had a hard time focusing and rubbed his eyes. It didn’t help.

What? She stared at him, her eyes now squinted and half-open. Did we? She let go of the comforter with one hand to caress her forehead. Oh, my head...

Charlie got a quick glimpse of her large breasts as she rubbed her head. She raised her head again, and her eyes grew as she followed the trail of her clothes into the living room, where he stood watching her. He finally remembered her name. Sonja, are you okay?

I…think…so. She stammered as though it was painful to talk. Are you leaving?

He tried to smile innocently. Thought I would let you sleep.

If you give me a minute to get ready, she winced and held her head, can you take me to my car?

Sure.

She wrapped the comforter around her as she gingerly stood. Tilting to the left, she staggered momentarily and had to stabilize herself with one hand on the bed to keep from falling. Regaining some sense of balance, she held the blanket up and sidestepped awkwardly across the bedroom toward what was likely a bathroom.

Suddenly, Charlie realized he needed to do the same thing she must be doing. He searched for another bathroom and found it at the end of a short hallway on the other side of the second bedroom.

After relieving himself, he couldn’t find toothpaste, so he helped himself to some mouthwash. As he left the bathroom, he glanced into the other bedroom. A pair of feet in brown shoes hung off the side of a double bed – men’s shoes. He stopped. Thoughts took a long time to come into his brain.

There was no one else here last night, was there? He couldn’t remember. Vague snatches of memory came back to him. He half-carried her through the front door. They made out for a while and had some wine. Soon, things got too hot, and they moved into the bedroom, helping each other out of their clothes on the way. They had mad, passionate sex for quite a while, and then everything went black.

Charlie was still standing in the hallway, trying to remember last night when Sonja came out of her bedroom wearing a loose-fitting housedress. She carefully picked up her scattered clothes, taking a moment to recover between items. When she saw him standing there, she ambled over to him.

You have the strangest look on your face. What’s wrong? She stopped close to him.

There’s someone in the other bedroom. He hid his concern and tried to act calmly.

No. She emitted a little trickle of a laugh, then cringed, holding her head. You’re joking, right?

He carefully shook his head and stepped back to let her see into the bedroom. She leaned forward but couldn’t see around the partially closed door. Together, they pushed the door open.

A man lay spread-eagle on the double bed, face down, fully clothed in a brown suit and brown shoes. He was about Charlie’s size, six-foot-one, slender, and dark hair. They stepped closer.

Sam? Sonja frantically clutched Charlie’s arm.

Charlie leaned forward. There was a big hole in the middle of the man’s back, and his dark red blood had soaked into the bed and dripped onto the floor, forming a large puddle.

Sonja screamed. Charlie jumped a foot in the air at the sound. When he came down, he wrapped his arms around Sonja and led her into the living room as she continued to wail. Still holding her, he gently eased her onto the sofa and sat beside her. After a nerve-wracking minute that seemed much longer, her loud cries became ragged sobbing.

Who is he? Charlie gently tried to comfort her.

She took a tissue from her house dress and blew her nose noisily. He’s my husband, she whispered.

Oh, shit. Charlie put his arm around her. I guess we better call the police.

Chapter Two

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Charlie stood near the porch of the murder house in the Sellwood neighborhood of Portland, Oregon. It was tucked back into the trees and bushes in the middle of a long, skinny lot. The front yard was divided by a long, concrete walk and was home to several evergreen trees, four or five rhododendrons, rose bushes, and occasional flowers arranged artistically to accent the porch. It was a clapboard house of a single story, painted off-white, and had modern vinyl windows. It was neat, trim, and altogether lovingly tended.

It appeared to be another glorious summer day in the Northwest, but it was far too early to tell. Too often, glorious sunlit mornings turned into summer showers by early afternoon. Either way, it was too bright and getting too warm for Charlie’s delicate condition. He was still hungover and would have given his left arm for some strong coffee, aspirins, and some peace and quiet.

I don’t know, Charlie said for what seemed like the thousandth time. Having not heard the policeman’s question, there wasn’t much else he could do but answer with something as banal as it was innocuous. I just met her yesterday at her shop in Sellwood.

What time did you arrive at the house? The sergeant glanced up from his notebook.

I don’t know exactly. I think it was about twelve-thirty, maybe one. Charlie shielded his eyes from the brightness of the day and turned more toward the house. Do you suppose we could get some coffee and something to eat? I’m hungover, and I need some aspirin.

I’ll see what I can do. The sergeant made more notes but didn’t do anything.

An unmarked police car suddenly stopped near the front curb, joining the dozen police cars already there, and a tall man in a blue suit got out. Charlie and the sergeant watched him force his way through the police officers, reporters, curious on-lookers, and whoever else had congregated curbside to approach the house.

Excuse me, Captain Morrey? the sergeant said as the man arrived at the porch. Can I help you?

Captain Maxwell Morrey was apparently unhappy about something. He was about fifty, stood six-foot-two inches of what used to be solid muscle, and was now somewhat softer. His ex-football career as a lineman still gave him his most prominent characteristic. He leaned into everyone and everything when he engaged with it. No thanks, Sergeant. He turned to Charlie. What the hell are you doing here?

Charlie instantly tried to cover his ears and shrank in the force of the captain’s personality. Hello, Uncle Max. He studied his shoes as he spoke. I discovered the body.

The captain took a breath, but before he could yell, he noticed the sergeant was still there. Don’t you have something else to do, Sergeant?

Hmm, yes, sir. I’m sure there is. The sergeant backed off, turned, and entered the house.

Before the captain could start shouting again, Charlie cut him off. Uncle Max, I met her at her shop yesterday afternoon just before closing. We hit it off pretty well and decided to have a drink. One turned into several, and we decided to have dinner at the Cliffside on the west side. Then we decided to have a few more drinks and go dancing at McKiver’s on the river in Sellwood. About midnight, we were well on the way to being tanked – I mean, being unable to drive, so before that happened, I drove us here to her house. We came in. She got a bottle of wine from the kitchen and joined me on the sofa. Well, one thing led to another, and we went to bed. Charlie grinned sheepishly at his uncle.

I see. Max’s flat, official voice sounded stern and unforgiving. So, where was the dead guy's body all this time? Max raised his eyebrows to emphasize his query.

Hmm, I don’t know. I guess he was dead in the other bedroom. I don’t know. We didn’t go in there at all. I didn’t even know there was another bedroom until this morning.

So, while a dead guy is lying in one room, you and this woman were in the next room playing hide the sausage, huh?

Charlie cringed. Yeah, I guess so. He shuffled his feet a bit. I don’t know. We passed out. He could have come in afterward and… I don’t know.

Charlie! What am I going to do with you? You have the worst luck I ever heard of. There was a robbery a year ago, and you just happened to be there. Then there were the underage girls and drugs downstairs from where you lived. When are you gonna grow up and stay out of my work? Max’s voice had returned to normal. He even sounded somewhat sympathetic.

I’m sorry, Uncle Max. I’ll try –

How old are you now, Charlie?

Twenty-four.