Snob-icide in Sunny Hills

By Jody Henning

Who killed Milly Tine, a rich elderly widow in the sleepy town of Sunny Hills? Lt. Chuck Goodwin, a former Big City Homicide Detective, is on the job. He suspects the homicide is too perfect to be the killer's only victim.

 

As Goodwin and his partner, Sgt. Tom Cooper, delves into the investigation; hot on the heels of the killer, the body count isn't the only thing rising. Goodwin's patience level is at the boiling point when he runs across Milly Tine's quirky neighbors, Alexa Williams, a pushy petite reporter in a pair of black spiky heels, and his womanizing partner who can't keep himself out of trouble with his antics, and continually dropping himself into the unwanted spotlight. If that's not enough, Goodwin's eccentric mom, Kathy, is up to her old tricks, trying to run his love life or lack thereof. Kathy has made her mission clear in life, (not that she doesn't love Popeye and Olive Oyle, Goodwin's boxer puppies); her sole purpose is to have two-legged grandkids.

 

With the circus in full swing, Goodwin has his hands full. Can he find the murderer before he strikes again while keeping Cooper out of trouble, his mom at bay, and the intrepid reporter Alexa Williams satisfied?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jody Henning
• Release date: Nov 5, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223000679

Jody Henning

Nothing to see here folks, just an old lady with a vivid imagination trying to pass the time of day and bring a little entertainment and humor into people's lives.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

THE MURDER OF MILLY TINE

Lt. Goodwin rounded the corner of a quiet, well-established tree-lined street, his unmarked police car inching closer to a cordoned-off area with curious neighbors and press stretching the police tape to get a better look. Goodwin's car crept through the gauntlet of morbid curiosity seekers, press, and emergency vehicles until a uniformed officer waved him to an open spot to park. What a bunch of Ghouls, he said as he exited his vehicle. As Goodwin made his way up the sidewalk, the smell of death hit him like a ton of bricks. He stopped in his tracks and retrieved a small gold container from his pocket, a going-away gift from his colleagues at his previous department, a gift he thought he would never have to use again. Goodwin opened the container, stuck his finger into the gel, and dabbed it into the outer area of each nostril. He took a deep breath through his nose; the Vicks mentholated eased over the smell of decay. Goodwin waved a uniformed officer over, Nathan, do me a favor, go find a frying pan and coffee grounds, put them on the stove at medium heat, and don't let them burn.

Nathan's face contorted with confusion, sir?

It will help get rid of the smell.

Yes, sir.

Goodwin followed Nathan into the house.

Hey Tom, what do we have, Chuck asked, eyeing a petite yet round gray-haired woman, his mind immediately conjuring an image of Mrs. Claus. He stared at the motionless body for a minute, with one hand pressing his seemingly mundane tie firmly against his nostrils and mouth, the other hand on his back. As Chuck bent in for a closer look, his readers slipped precariously to the tip of his nose.

Tom read methodically from his notebook as he stood up, letting his partner of two years get a better look at the lifeless body in front of them. We have Milly Tine, sixty-five, widow, mother of three, grandmother of five. It appears she was stabbed to death with those giant knitting needles sticking out of each side of her neck, he paused for effect. I won’t make any bad Frankenstein jokes, he mused, but we’ll need the coroner to confirm.

Chuck rolled his eyes; he was in no mood for Tom’s bad jokes today, even the most obvious ones. Seriously, Tom, Chuck said through his tie, raising his right eyebrow, which Tom could see but chose to ignore.

Just screwing with you, Chuck, he smirked. As you can see, Tom continued, judging by the smell, which didn’t bother Tom as he wasn’t using anything to block the insidious aroma wafting through the house that would make most normal people run, throw up or at minimum gag and cover their nose, and if you look here, he pointed, her extremities have been used as kitty kibble. She’s probably been dead for at least a week, but I would guess more. But again, we’ll need the coroner to confirm.

Keeping his tie pressed firmly against the bristle of his faintly graying five o’clock shadow, Chuck shook his head as he stood. He couldn’t help but wonder why or how a seemingly sweet old lady lay dead and unnoticed for over a week. Chuck asked himself, where in the hell were Milly’s kids, grandkids, neighbors, and friends while glancing around the victim, taking in every minuscule detail. Mental note... call Mom when I get home, he muttered. Do we have any suspects or motives yet, Chuck asked, walking to a wall covered in family photos. He could tell from the photographs this was a loving family; the pictures spoke of family outings, vacations, events, and milestones. Something Chuck yearned for in his own life, but being the only child of an only child of only children made family gatherings painfully lonely. As Chuck surveyed the immediate surroundings, he noticed Milly’s house was meticulously neat but was reminiscent of the 70s with shag carpet, colors of orange, gold, avocado, and hints of brown. Thank God these colors went out of style, Chuck thought to himself; nobody in their right mind would choose this if they were redecorating. The 50s, yes, he thought, but the 70s, no way on earth. The other option, she didn’t have the money to redecorate. She must have been on a fixed income, poor Milly; it must have been the latter. Chuck determined she couldn’t afford to free herself of the 70s.

Tom’s booming voice broke into Chuck’s thoughts of sadness for Milly’s shabby environment.

There are no broken windows; they all appear locked and secure. The door hasn’t been kicked in, but look at this, Tom said, moving towards the front door. What do you make of this?

Chuck walked over to join Tom; he scanned the door, door jam, and door knob, his eyes following his fingers as a guide, running them over every inch just above the surface, carefully not touching anything, searching for any clue. It’s not forced entry, he concluded. There are no marks to indicate burglary tools, no jimmy marks, he surmised aloud as he pushed his readers to the middle of his nose.

Exactly, Chuck, but that’s not what I wanted you to look at; look over here, Tom said, pointing with his notebook.

Chuck spun around, eyeing the wall across from the door; a smirk grew across his face; looks like Milly wasn’t much of a housekeeper, he assumed, looking at a dusty entry hall table. Good catch, Tom, Chuck said, hunched over for a closer look, his tie firmly pressed against his face. Chuck noted a large imprint with two tinier marks on either side. The impressions were faint as the dust began filling in and would soon be covered to match the rest of the dusty table. I would venture to guess this is Milly’s butt print, he said, pointing at the large imprint. And the two flanking must be her hands catching herself as she fell off balance into the table. She must have opened the door to her killer, a known or unknown person, and bum-rushed her, causing her to fall backward. I’m guessing she didn’t know them, or they wouldn’t need to force their way in once the door opened, Chuck speculated aloud. His brow furrowed, looks like there might have been a scuffle, and she was drug from the door to where the body lay.

Tom looked at him inquisitively, notebook and pen at the ready.

Chuck smiled, I’m not sure if you noticed, but there appear to be rug burns and dust on Milly’s bare heels. Also, there are faint drag marks in the worn shag carpet, he added, taking off his readers, and waving them over the carpet to make his point, but we’ll have to wait for the coroner report to verify any carpet fibers and dust embedded in her feet.

Tom took a deep breath in frustration, that wasn’t what I was referring to, but you’re right, he said, exhaling. How could I have missed that, berating himself? I’m definitely going to have to get me a pair of those readers; they apparently give you Superman vision, he noted to himself.

Sorry, Tom, what did you want me to look at, Chuck asked, still surveying the crime scene and breaking into Tom’s self-doubting thoughts about his detective skills.

Look at the mail on the table... next to the dust imprints, he sheepishly added under his breath. The mail has been brought in daily. The postmarks are marked as current as yesterday. We know Milly couldn’t have brought it in; she’s been dead for over a week. Whoever did this has been staying here or returning daily to bring in the mail. Why?

Chuck nodded in agreement, I think you’re right; whoever did this has been staying here. It’s too risky to be coming and going, even under cover of darkness. Have you checked the rest of the house?

No... I haven’t had a chance, Tom replied. I got here about ten minutes ahead of you, long enough for the uniforms to fill me in on the basics and talk to the son for a second.

Both detectives made their way down a short hall to Milly’s bedroom; as they walked in, Sgt. Tom Cooper, the younger of the two by twelve years but readily admits his maturity level is more in line with thirty years younger than his partner, turned left into the room. Lt. Chuck Goodwin (Henry Charles Goodwin) never goes by Henry or Charles, always giving a disapproving look when anyone, including his mom, uses either name turned right into the bathroom, each doing a cursory search in silence.

Chuck, this doesn’t make sense, Tom spoke, breaking the room’s silence. As far as I can tell, he continued, her jewelry, cash, credit cards, and computer haven’t been touched; it all appears to be here.

I checked the master bathroom, Chuck said, walking back into the master bedroom and rejoining his partner, it looks like no meds have been stolen, but what’s curious is the toilet seat is up; how many women do you know lift the toilet seat, Chuck asked rhetorically, he knew the answer, none. There’s also a damp towel on the hook, he added. Damn, Tom, this isn’t good; this doesn’t match my home invasion theory at all; this confirms our killer stayed in the house from the moment he killed Mrs. Tine until at least yesterday, he said, wiping his brow with his tie, realizing the smell of decay had dissipated enough from the frying coffee grounds, he could leave his nose and mouth unencumbered. Tom, do we know where her family’s been for the past week? Her friends? The last time she was seen or heard from? Anything, his voice raised out of frustration.

I talked to her son briefly, the one that found her, Tom said, opening his notebook. Jim, that’s the son’s name, he continued, Jim said the whole family and close family friends took their annual vacation to a remote lodge in Alaska. So remote, there’s no electronics, phone, gas, or electricity, and you have to fly in, no outside contact, you know, the great outdoors. According to Jim, his mom wasn’t up for that kind of trip this year and said she would stay home and take care of the pets while they were gone - that didn’t work out well for her, he snorted. Jim said everyone showed up for the trip, and no one left early – leaves the family and close friends out as suspects. That’s all I could get out of him; he was pretty distraught.

What about a boyfriend? Do we know if Milly had a boyfriend, Chuck asked, hitting the spacebar on Milly’s computer.

Tom’s head snapped towards Chuck, boyfriend, Tom exclaimed, that sweet-looking grandmotherly old lady, he said in a questioning tone.

Yeah, boyfriend; she’s old, not dead, err wasn’t dead, he corrected himself awkwardly, you know that old saying, snow on the roof, fire in the basement. Chuck thought about his mom, almost seventy and sleeping with a sixty-year-old man – would that make her a cougar, he asked himself. His entire body shuddered at the thought.

Tom’s face turned pink, his head shaking; he couldn’t get the image of Milly and a boyfriend doing the nasty out of his head. Two wrinkly prune bodies going at it, their skin flapping in unison. Whoever was on top had it worse, he thought; gravity was working against them; then again, he pondered, the person on the bottom would have to look at all that loose skin falling towards them; nope, they could close their eyes. Thanks, Chuck, for that wonderful imagery.

Tom’s voice brought clarity back to Chuck; they both winced and shuddered at the same time. Back to the case, Chuck said to himself. Let’s get the technicians on her cell phone and computer, see what she was up to and who she was talking to. Pull her phone records, bank records, and credit card records. Have the uniforms do a preliminary canvass of the neighborhood and see if anyone saw anything. I’m still going with the home invasion theory for now, at least for the news’ sake, Chuck said, scribbling in his notebook.

Speaking of the news, you better get out there and talk to the reporters gathered out front; this is big news for our quiet little retirement community. I’ll work on processing the crime scene with the techs and get the ball rolling on everything you requested, Tom said, walking out of the bedroom, jotting down more notes in his typically empty notebook.

G ood afternoon Ladies , and Gentlemen; my name is Lt. Chuck Goodwin, C H U C K - G O O D W I N, spelling his name for the press. I’m with the detective division of Sunny Hills Police Department. Mrs. Milly Tine was found deceased this morning by a relative. We are investigating this as a home invasion gone wrong. That’s all the information we have for you at this time. We would appreciate any assistance from the public if anyone has seen or heard anything related to this crime; please call the detective division or 9-1-1 immediately.

Lt. Goodwin, a petite, well-dressed reporter said, raising her hand. What led you to believe this is a home invasion?

I’m not at liberty to discuss the evidence at this time; we are still in the early stages of our investigation, he responded, looking at the crowd.

How is the son, another reporter piped in.

He is upset and distraught, as you can imagine, Goodwin answered. What the hell is wrong with these people, he thought to himself. Do they expect me to say the son was doing the happy dance over his dead mother’s body?

How was Mrs. Tine murdered, another reporter asked.

The shrill voice brought Lt. Chuck Goodwin back from his thoughts to the Q&A.

I’m not at liberty to discuss any details of the crime or crime scene at this time.

The petite reporter raised her hand again, Lt. Goodwin, do you think this might be an isolated case, possibly a transient passing through town or more than one person involved? Is there anything you can give us besides the victim’s name and she’s deceased?

I’m sorry, but that’s all there is for now. If there are no more questions, this briefing is over, Chuck said stone-faced.

The petite reporter raised her hand again. Lt. Goodwin, what’s the point of a press briefing if you won’t give us any information, she asked in frustration.

Chuck didn’t answer immediately; he stared at the woman, sizing her up. He guessed she was in her mid-thirties to early forties, carried herself well, and he had to admit she was attractive. The detective deduced she had gotten far in the news game by using her looks, but he could see she was intelligent too, not the typical small-town reporter he dealt with before. He noticed she was smartly dressed and didn’t allow her small stature to slow her down. She muscled her way to the front of the group with grace and ease, quickly becoming the center of attention. He was used to this kind of reporter in the big city; what the hell is she doing in this sleepy town, he thought.

Lt. Goodwin, she reiterated, breaking into his wandering mind. Well?

None, he responded with a slight grin, thank you, everyone, he continued, we’re done, he said, turning to walk away.

What a dick, the petite reporter mumbled to her cameraman.

Chuck snapped back around; No, ma’am – the name is Lieutenant or Lt. Goodwin.

Humph, she snorted, turning and giving her cameraman the cut signal, but instead of using her hand, she used her middle finger.

You know that’s an illegal hand gesture, and I could arrest you for that, Chuck quipped.

The brassy, petite reporter heard Chuck’s words behind her; in that instant, her face turned bright red; she felt her ears heat up; she couldn’t bear to turn around and acknowledge she was busted twice now for her childish behavior or let him see her now crimson face. Still, he deserved the attitude, she thought. What a dumbass, she muttered to the cameraman, her face now slightly pink.

Who, you or him, the cameraman retorted with a satisfied grin.

Don’t you start, she chuckled, giving her trusty sidekick a petulant look in her attempt to be serious.

CHAPTER 2

MEET THE MURDERER

Somewhere across town , in a dingy room lit only by the harsh glow of a computer, a man’s voice was barely heard over the blaring TV from down the hall, the man ruminating over the current local news.

Seriously... these small-town cops are so stupid; they couldn’t find their ass with both hands, a mirror, and a flashlight. Nothing about our friend Mrs. Tine yet, he announced, flipping pages on the glaring screen in front of him. The reporters aren’t any better; they are as useless as the cops, the voice mumbled. It looks like I can step up my game without any worries or interference from these local yokels.

The dark figure stood and moved slowly to a bookcase across the room; he carefully slid the flimsy structure, revealing a door to a large room. Standing in the open doorway, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath; a smile covered his face as he smelled the scent of each victim. He took another deep, drawn-out breath to bask in his memories of murder. His brow furrowed, and his heart saddened as he realized his newest friend’s scent of roses was taking over the room. Fuck, Milly, just like in life, you have to run the show. That will go away, just like you did, he snickered, sliding the bookcase closed behind him.

The dark shadowy figure flipped on the fluorescent light, illuminating the stark room so bright his pasty skin became iridescent. The glowing man sat in an elegant wing-back leather chair positioned perfectly in the center of the room on an elaborate antique Persian rug; beside him, a quaint side table, a bottle of red wine, and an ornate crystal wine glass. The man carefully poured himself a glass of wine, lifted the goblet, and toasted to the boxes neatly stored on a heavy-duty metal rack. Here’s to all my friends and future friends I have yet to bring home.

The man took a small sip and pushed the button on the side of his recliner, lifting his legs. He sat quietly for a couple of minutes, contemplating his next move. He opened a small drawer on the side table and pulled out several photos. He stared at the glossy snapshots, flipping each one over, carefully reading the detailed information he had already gathered, and trying to decide who his next friend would be. Once his sights set, he grabbed a new box from a stack in the corner, wrote the new friend’s name in large black block letters, and carefully stowed the box on the shelf next to Milly Tine. He sat back in his chair and swirled his wine glass, watching the red liquid move slowly around the glass.

Zodiac Killer, Son of Sam, Ted Bundy, he scoffed, amateurs, all amateurs. The world will know my work but never know my name; they will only know me by an asinine moronic name the press will give me, but they will fear me if and when they ever figure it out. People will be terrified of me, and I will go down in the history books as the most prolific, notorious serial killer to walk the face of this earth. A killer never caught, I might add, he snickered. These cops have no idea I am already their worst nightmare. Now it’s time to start formulating my plan for Mrs. Ginny Rogers, he said, staring at her photo with a sneer of disgust.

A loud noise began blaring through the walls; his head snapped around with a quick jerk. He lay the photo of Ginny Rogers on the table beside him, got up from his chair, and listened more intently. As the noise got closer and louder, he shoved the bookcase open. He pulled the blackout curtains back and lifted a small opening in the mini blinds of the only window in the bleak room. As he peered through the small gap, he could see the cause of the ear-piercing noise – gardeners with weed whackers and leaf blowers. They were the cause of the insidious deafening noise continually assaulting his eardrums. He paced back and forth as the noise penetrated his safe space, growing more agitated. Anyone who still uses those loud, useless tools should be taken care of, he mumbled as he returned to his room.

CHAPTER 3

THE BIG ARREST

Lt. Goodwin pulled his unmarked unit into the parking lot of the police department. He found his spot in the shade, turned off the ignition, and stared at the building. Goodwin sat in deafening silence, wondering why he didn’t retire as captain of homicide at his formidable big city department instead, choosing to move across the country to a small quaint department. Sunny Hills was supposed to be a no-crime town , he thought to himself. That’s what they told me, the bill of sale they gave me, easy peasy. The biggest caper was Johnny stealing a candy bar after school or the town drunk sleeping it off in the cell. But no, I get here, and there’s a murder. There has never been a murder in this sleepy town’s history, and now a murder. Chuck took a deep breath and blew it out hard and loud as he opened the car door. Well, at least I had a couple of years of easy peasy, he mumbled as he pulled open the front glass door to the lobby. Lt. Goodwin preferred to enter through the front so he could flirt with Sarah at the front desk before hitting her coffee pot; she had better coffee than the detective’s office; she was also better to look at than Tom.

Hi, Sarah; how’s it going?

Good Chuck; phones have been going nuts since the murder, but it’s nice to be busy for a change. How are you doing?

Not bad; I brought you lunch, he said, setting a fast food bag and soda on her desk. Is Tom back?

Thanks, Chuck; I haven’t had a chance to get a break yet! No, Tom’s not back yet, but a reporter is waiting in your office, she said, raising an eyebrow, she’s kind of pushy but cute, she giggled. Nice dresser, too.

Chuck closed his eyes while rolling his head in a circular motion numerous times, his neck popping and cracking at every rotation. Sarah, I know this is a small town, and you probably know almost everyone, but you just can’t let anyone, especially the press, into the back offices without an escort.

I escorted her, Sarah answered defensively.

Chuck sighed, realizing the conversation was going nowhere, how long has she been waiting?

She just got here.

I’m going to sneak into the chief’s office; can you go tell her I’m not coming back to the office today and please escort her out the front doors, he said in his best boyish pleading voice. Tell her I’ll call her when I have anything new. I don’t know what the hell she expects from me; it hasn’t even been two hours since I left the crime scene.

Not a problem, Chuck; consider her gone.

She shouldn’t be in our office in the first place, he muttered quietly, frustrated at the lack of security. Chuck cleared his throat, thanks, Sarah; you’re a doll, he said, winking at her.

Hey, chief, Chuck said, closing the door behind him. He closed the blinds over the window, looking into the lobby before finally resting in a chair in front of Chief Anderson.

Hi Chuck, I heard the scene was pretty bad. Do you have anything to go on yet?

No, not yet. I’m waiting for Tom to get back. I’m curious to see if the uniforms got anything from the canvass or if the technicians found anything. I’m sure if there were anything helpful or earth-shattering, Tom would have called.

In other words, no news is not good news, Anderson said, looking up from his computer.

Sir, from what I’ve seen so far, I’ve got a feeling this will be a bit challenging to solve.

Keep me updated; if you need me to call the County or State for support, let me know.

Yes, sir.

The two men chatted for another couple of minutes before Chuck got up from his chair and split the blinds open, looking into the lobby. Not seeing anyone, Chuck opened the blinds and knocked on the window, getting Sarah’s attention. Chuck gestured, asking if the reporter left. Sarah shrugged, indicating she didn’t know what he was asking. Chuck did his best pushy reporter imitation, and Sarah responded with another shrug. Chuck gave up and opened the door, stuck his head through the crack, is she gone, he whispered loudly.

What, Sarah responded, cupping her ear, I can’t hear you.

Chuck opened the door wider and looked up and down the hall, is she gone, he asked with clenched teeth.

Sarah started laughing, I’m just messing with you, Chuck; she’s been gone for about ten minutes, but you do one hell of a pushy reporter imitation, her big, toothy smile remained as she answered the ringing phone.

You’re a laugh riot, Sarah, Chuck said, walking down the hall, if I wanted this kind of abuse, I could just go home, he added, walking into his office.

Chuck knew that was a lie; the only ones giving him crap at home were his two boxer pups, which in his eyes, did a pretty good job of it. Not to mention the chastising from his mother about no two-legged grandkids; not that she didn’t love the pups, she just wanted real grandkids she could brag about. Though Chuck heard his mother brag about the puppies on many occasions, probably realizing her son would never have kids since he was happily single, forty-eight years old, and with no ladies on the horizon, embracing the pups was his mother’s best option.

Tom strolled into the dismal detective’s office, looked around, and sat down at his desk with a heavy sigh; he drummed his fingers on his notepad, turned to the coffee pot, and sighed again.

Chuck smirked as he walked to the coffee pot. No. No, you sit; I’ll make a pot; I wouldn’t want you to exert yourself.

Well, the first person in is supposed to make it, you know, Tom said in a spoiled brat tone, and you did get back before me.

You’re right; what was I thinking, hitting his forehead with the palm of his hand. So, did the uniforms come up with anything during their canvass, Chuck asked while pouring water into the old coffee machine. Hmmm, this might be why our coffee tastes so bad, he thought as he held the glass carafe up to the dull fluorescent light. A thick, heavy brown sludge coated the once clear glass. It probably hasn’t been washed in decades, he thought, scratching at the brown with his fingernail. If ever, he scoffed, starting the coffee.

No, they’re still out there. I asked Sgt. Jones to check in when they finished canvassing. The technicians are still going through the house, garage, and yards with a fine-tooth comb. Laura said she would give us a preliminary report when her team completed the scene. So we’re at a standstill until we hear back from them, Tom responded while his fingers punched at his keyboard.

We need to interview the family and friends; get a good picture of Mrs. Tine, see who else was in her life, who profited from her death, enemies, her social life and activities, he said, pouring them both a cup of coffee, wincing at the mucky carafe.

Thanks, boss, Tom said, pecking away at the keyboard. I’m almost done with the warrants for Milly’s records.

Chuck sat at his desk, pulling up all social media platforms and searching for Milly’s online presence. He found two sites containing the usual stuff: recipes, grandchildren, pets, achievements, trips, and fun little jokes and sayings. Everything appeared benign, with no threats, no hate speech, no stalker, just innocent chatter amongst friends and family. He noticed a couple of names she chatted with a little more and jotted their names down in his notebook to follow up with tomorrow. Chuck and Tom were so engrossed in their computer screens neither man noticed someone entering their office. Chuck looked up to answer his ringing phone and eyed the attractive, brash reporter hovering in front of his desk.

Hi Sarah, you’re a little late, he said in his gruffest voice, scowling at the reporter standing before him.

I know, Chuck; I’m so sorry. I went out to the lobby to pick up some garbage on the floor, and as I was coming back in, she jerked the door open and blew by me, and well, she paused, you know the rest.

Thanks, Sarah, Chuck said as he dropped the receiver heavily onto the cradle. I’m sorry, ma’am, but you’re not allowed back here. I can appreciate your dogged tenacity; however, you have to leave, Chuck said, gritting his teeth while standing and grabbing her elbow to guide her out.

I’m sorry, Detective Goodwin, but I would like some answers instead of the obligatory mumbo jumbo you feed my colleagues.

Ms. Chuck paused while putting more pressure on her elbow.

It’s Alexa, Alexa Williams, she interrupted, from KOLD TV News.

Ms. Williams, if you don’t leave, I will arrest you for trespassing.

You can’t do that! I’m with the press, and this is not private property.