A Question of Murder: CD Grimes PI, #7

By C. D. Moulton

11 shorts

Critic comment
These are rather standard fare for the detective magazines, though they tend to be among the better type. People who enjoy shorter works will tend to like these. CD is developing into a distinct character, one a person can't know if he likes or not. The rest of the cast I find rather likeable.
- GGL ***

• Language: English
• Publisher: C. D. Moulton
• Release date: Jul 23, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201786700

Book preview

CD Grimes

Book seven

A Question of Murder

11 shorts

© 1988 & 2019 by C. D. Moulton

all rights reserved: no part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any other information retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright holder/publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

These are works of fiction. Resemblances to actual persons are purely coincidental unless otherwise stated.

Critic comment

These are rather standard fare for the detective magazines, though they tend to be among the better type. People who enjoy shorter works will tend to like these. CD is developing into a distinct character, one a person can’t know if he likes or not. The rest of the cast I find rather likeable.

- GGL ***

Contents

About the author

Foreword

Sleuth

No Fishing From Bridge

Say Again?

Fish Tales

Return To Sender

Third Time's the Charm

Dead Line

Show Time!

Name Your Poison

No Takers

You Don't Threaten A Cracker

About the Author

CD began writing fiction in 1984 and has more than 300 books published as of 3/15/16 in SciFi, murder, orchid culture and various other fields.

He now resides Gualaca, Chiriqui, Panamá, where he continues research into epiphytic plants and plays music with friends. He loves the culture of the indigenous people and counts a majority of his closer friends among that group. He funds those he can afford through the universities where they have all excelled. The Indios are very intelligent people, they are simply too poor (in material things and money.) to pursue higher education.

CD loves Panamá and the people, despite horrendous experiences (Free e-book; Fading Paradise). He plans to spend the rest of his life in the paradise that is Panamá

CD is involved in research of natural cancer cure at this time. It has proven effective in all cases, so far. It is based on a plant that has been in use for thousands of years, is safe, available, and cheap. He was cured of a serious lymphoma with use of the plant, Ambrosia peruviana.

Information about this cure is free on the FaceBook page Ambrosia peruviana for cancer. CD asks only that all who try it please report on its effectiveness on that group.

Foreword

These are a few odd cases from the files that may hold some interest to others. They show a small bit of what the detective business is about.

Most of my cases are about murder. That's my specialty. When I was a teenager growing up on the Crane Estate in Nicely, CD Grimes, my Gramps, was a famous detective. He taught me most of what I know and gave me a few pointers about how to approach a case. He was also a billionaire, and that has passed on to me, in great part.

This is in explanation of a few things that appear to irritate readers of my crap.

I am used to power, to giving orders that are followed. That is a part of having limitless money and of the training to run those Crane companies, which I now hold 51% of. (of which I.... I know. Bitch, bitch, bitch.) The government won't let me get rid of them, but that's not germane here.

To reinforce that, Gramps said: a detective, to be successful in the field of murder, must be borderline arrogant and totally selfassured at all times that he is in control and is smarter than the killer. A detective who is always unsure and confused is not going to do more than be used by many criminal types. If I sound like a pompous ass, it's part of the act. When the act drains over too much into my personal life and relations, my real friends tell me to stop being an asshole jerk.

I thank them for that. My method does make me accept far too many things as real, not projections, and leaks into how I treat others, at times. Sometimes, I am an asshole jerk. I'm human.

Another thing is the take control way I work with the police here and statewide. People who are not aware that I am a special marshal for the grand jury tend to say, "Yeah! Right! I see the cops putting up with that!"

The grand jury (Which, personally, I don't believe has any place in a democratic, just society) has broad powers. Much too broad, in my conception.

Anyhow, note that the method works, and realize that I am not really what these things can sound like – at least, I sincerely hope not.

CD Grimes

Englewood, FL.

May, 1988

Sleuth

It was raining that morning as I threw the worn trench coat and soggy hat in the general direction of the rack. My fags were a gooey yellow-brown scum dripping through the cellophane, and Lucy was giving me one of her looks.

Let her look! I pay her to pick things up.

I pay her when I get the dough, that is. She's a good broad. She puts up with a hell of a lot from me, and I know it.

"Before you go in there, you should know that Turner and the D.A. are already there. D.A. Mortimer has blood in his eye. They also said a Mrs. Blossom is expected and I am to send her in.

June Blossom, would you believe!

I gave her my onesided grin and sauntered into the office just as the outer door to the reception room opened. I did a doubletake and went back out.

June Blossom had long, silky blond hair in a neat upsweep in front, a perfect set of gams that went up forever, the bluest eyes I have ever seen, and all her other endowments in large and perfectly shaped configurations, if you get my drift.

Mr Grimes? she asked, in a voice that sent a little ripple up my spine – like little silver bells.

Crap! Do even my daydreams have to sound so tiredly cliched? This kind of sleuthing went out in the forties!

Well, almost. There were still a few notable exceptions.

My next thing in such a situation would be to know perfectly well that whatever the case was, she did it. I wouldn't get so involved I'd end up getting beat up and getting shot up – or worse. I'm not bulletproof and am enough of a coward to know I'd probably get hit – and not a flesh wound somewhere that would let me jump from the hospital bed and continue the chase. However, if she was going to use her overabundance of sexual charms to seduce someone into doing her dirty work, I might turn her over to Jim Barrow for a little while. He could teach her a thing or two about that sort of thing.

You have a silly look on your face! Alma, my wife, noted, coming into the den with a pot of coffee and a big platter of homemade dewberry muffins. (Actually, they were dewberry 1-2-3 cake cooked in individual muffin tins.) Why the grin?

Oh, I was thinking about a certain type of woman and Jim, I replied. More or less how I'd handle a situation in one of those old detective novels.

You mean the sex queen, all legs, helpless type that always did it? she asked.

Oh, they all do it, I fired back, ducking as she threw the Tampa Tribune at me. We ended up in a wad in the overstuffed chair (I do have that prop!) doing depraved things to each other. That was the way Lou found us when she came in to say I had a caller. I wonder why I didn't hear them drive up?

Alma straightened up her hair a bit, sniffed, and went out for Lou to show a rather large red-nosed individual into the room. If I were going to chose the one who did it in one of my cases, he would have been it, on general principles.

This is Mr. Yost, Lou said, gave his back a dirty look and slammed the door behind him as she went out.

Here now, you! I'm not used to being kept waiting, Grimes! he snapped huffily in greeting.

I warmed to him immediately. Really? You could always show your displeasure by walking out, I replied, as dryly as I could manage. I'm busy. What do you want from me that's so important you couldn't take the time to make a normal appointment before coming in here bitching because you were kept waiting?

I don't need appointments! he snapped. I don't have time for all that! I'm used to action!

Then you'd better get yourself into better shape, I replied sweetly. You look to me like any more action than walking to the door and you'd keel over. I went to the open window and yelled, Paulo!

I'm too busy to play games with you! he snapped. I have a meeting in less than an hour with my board of directors. You've got to find out who's doing this to me!

I don't have to find the time of day for you, I replied. I handle my board meetings with conference phones. Saves time and money.

Paulo came to look into the window. Mr. Yost is getting the hell off of my property, I said to Paulo. If he resists your kind efforts to expedite his departure, knock him on his ass and throw him off!

I turned to Yost, who was standing with his mouth wide open, gulping like a fish.

Have a nice day, I said and sat back at the desk.

Buh! Duh! Whah? he spluttered. "Do you know who I am!?"

Your name is Yost. You're a totally obnoxious ass, I replied. You are leaving. I meant it when I said Paulo could throw you out!

I'm Howard Delander Kirkpatrick Yost the third! he yelled. I’m owner of HDKY Modern Aluminum Products! We're the largest premanufactured aluminum contractors in the state!

Paulo was coming into the room for that one, and said, Doesn't your Alabama plant supply all their aluminum, CD?

I don't know which turkeys we supply from which plant, I answered. Show Yost out.

As Paulo steered Yost out I heard him saying he gets all his building supplies from J. R. Crane Structural Metals Corporation.

Yeah, Paulo replied. CD owns all those Crane things. He buys six companies like yours before breakfast and sells them before lunch so he can spend the afternoons fishing. He don't like golf.

The door slammed and I heard an argument, then a car drove off. Paulo came in, grinning, and said the guy's chauffeur wasn't about to get into any fight for him and got fired, so he would drive him home.

Get him a job at the Sarasota plant if he needs one and has a chauffeur's license, I suggested and went back to my work on the new hybrid lists of the orchids. It had been awhile since I'd updated them. I'd be stuck the rest of the day there. I put Yost out of my mind.

The next morning, Jim and I went out for awhile just inside of Stump Pass and got a few trout and a nice pompano, then came in for lunch. Paulo came in from Englewood, where he had picked up the mail and some groceries for Lou. I glanced through the letters and came to one with a HDKY Modern Aluminum Prefabricators letterhead. I almost tossed it at the circular file, but shrugged and tore it open.

Mr. Grimes:

I wish, first, to state that your mistreatment of me this morning was inexcusable, though I admit it is possible I was somewhat at fault myself. I realize that I had no appointment and your type of people are a bit defensive about those things.

However: You are a detective and come recommended quite highly. I have no experience with such sordid affairs that I have ever been in contact with a detective before, but I now find myself forced to seek the services of your agency by events not within my control.

I used part of the family capital to establish the HDKY company as a diversion and, frankly, it has grown to be my major source of income. Someone is now sabotaging that business and I don't know who or why.

That is what I need your services for. Find out and put a stop to it.

I do not know what your normal fees may be so I am including my personal check for five hundred dollars ($500.00), which I am sure will cover things until you have some results.

No signature, no nothing except the check. I saw red.

After lunch I went to my den and wrote:

Yost:

Am in receipt of your letter and hereby inform you that I am returning your check. I would hate to have all that money laying around here for someone to steal or something.

I don't care about you or the HDKY company. Please do not again disturb me. If you find you need the services of a detective you will find some excellent agencies in the yellow pages. I think you should use one of the commercial advertised companies, considering that they are more in your price range, apparently. My minimum standard retainer fee is fifty thousand dollars ($50,000.00) with a daily rate of five hundred dollars ($500.00) plus expenses, so you will realize the commercial establishments, which charge two hundred dollars ($200.00) per day, are more in your price range.

I didn't sign it, either. I carried it to the post office as I went out to the island to visit with Jim and Mac, then went home, took Alma to Sarasota to the Asolo Theater for a comedy show and had an altogether pleasant evening.

The following day I spent with the orchids. The morning after that I had business in Ft. Myers. I returned home late in the afternoon to find I had another letter from Yost.

Some people have enough nerve....

I tore it open and a check fell out. I let it lay on the floor while I read the letter.

Dear Mr. Grimes,

Please forgive my former shortness with you and the implied slights. I was understandably upset at the time. I do urgently need help. You have here my check to include your retainer fee and a few days expenses. I have instructed all of my employees to cooperate with you fully.

I am desperate, Mr. Grimes! I think someone tried to kill me!

Very sincerely yours,

He signed this one.

I picked up the check. It was for seventy five thousand. Alma was reading it over my shoulder.

He must have checked and found you really do own all those Crane things, she said. From what you and Paulo said, I don't wonder that someone wants to kill him. At least murder's up your alley, while industrial espionage isn't. You shouldn't have quoted the retainer and fees. He's got you, now.

I shook my head and grinned. If there was one thing I was equipped to handle, it was this!

I called the Sarasota plant and told Tony Jacobi, #1 manager and huge help in all my projects, to find out who was stealing HDKY blind and let me know. There's no one in the business better than Tony and he already works for me. I would hand Yost his crook, if there was one, and his check. I would tell him not to ever bother me again for any reason.

Tony sent all the evidence over the following afternoon. He had it down to a science and we had our thieves, the manager of the number three prefabrication plant and the bookkeeper there, dead to rights. They had simply copied bills from our Alabama plant, which are computer-printed, and paid them by P.O. to a bank account owned by the two in Mobile, Alabama. They had embezzled more than eight hundred thousand dollars in the past three months, alone. I gathered the evidence, made copies for my records and drove to the big estate on the Myaka River where Yost lived. I had to go in through two security gates and was instructed to remain inside of my car until the dogs were tied by the houseman, who would then take me in to Mr. Yost, if he would see me. There was word to allow me through at any time.

I drove up to the house, where there was another steel gate. A man was chaining four Dobermans, then waved to me and threw a remote switch which opened the gate. I went in and the gate closed, then went into the house with the houseman, who used the house phone to call for Yost. He punched several numbers, but got no response, then shook his head, sighed and led me to a room with rather comfortable, but mostly unused furniture. He went out and was gone for more than half an hour. I couldn't leave with those dogs out there or I would've marched out of the place after about five minutes.

The houseman returned and said he couldn't understand why, but Mr. Yost didn't seem to be in the house – and he never left the place, except in his Mercedes and with a chauffeur. There was no chauffeur on duty and the Mercedes was still in the garage.

He called the gate and to the river security fence, but Yost hadn't gone anywhere and no one else had come or gone, except for me. I didn't like the smell of this. At all.

I asked where Yost usually was at this time of the day, and the houseman, Jon Lord, said he was often in his study. He had been served coffee and pastry there about an hour and a half ago. The door was locked, now.

We went to the study, which was in the center of the house and which had no entrance or exit except for the one door. It had no windows. There was no key for the lock, except the one Yost carried on his chain.

We went through the whole house carefully. The only place we couldn't enter was that study. Yost wasn't anywhere. We even checked the garage and storage rooms and had the river security man check the boat and boathouse.

Then he's in the study, I said. Process of elimination. He couldn't be anywhere else – so ring the number for in there, Jon.

It's quite soundproofed, Sir, Jon said. You won't hear it out here.

He rang the number. I couldn't hear it at all.

We don't know it's ringing, then. He may be right there, I said.

Jon looked thoughtful, then went to a bellpull to one side and yanked the cord.

It has a bell that is directly attached, Sir, he said.