Chapter Eighty
Trixie fluffed her blonde curls with her fingers, noting it was almost time for a touchup at the salon. She had never noticed her gray hair until last fall, after Aralyn disappeared. Worrying about her daughter for four months had aged her, she thought. Bo insisted she was imagining it, swearing she looked the exact same as the day he met her. But the gray was creeping in more and more. Now she understood why her mother had fretted about the gray hairs when she was Trixie’s age. Other than that, Trixie still had her youthful looks and curvy figure, even after four children.
Sean was off at school, so the day was hers. She hadn’t heard from Fenton Hardy for a couple of weeks, so once she had her second cup of coffee prepped with a healthy dose of sugar and cream, she settled into the chair of the office she shared with and dialed her old friend.
“Good morning Trixie!” he greeted her cheerfully. “How are you doing?”
“Pretty good, Fenton, yourself?”
“Not too bad. What can I do for you?”
“Just wondering if you have any cases I can tinker with.”
“Not right now, unfortunately. Just a couple of kooky cases. I’ve got Frank and Joe working on something but it’s pretty slow right now.”
“Define kooky,” Trixie took a sip of her coffee.
“I think they’re crank calls. The standard divorces, with this woman making some pretty outlandish claims against her husband.”
“Such as?”
“Things she thinks he’s doing…erm…with her personal items.”
“Ew!”
“Indeed. Then there’s the fellow who thinks the church next door burned down his house. He’s in your neck of the woods, though, Westchester.”
“What makes him think that?”
Fenton chuckled. “They prayed on in his driveway for his car to break down, and it did. Then they stood in his yard and prayed for his house to burn down—it did.”
“And the police? What do you think?”
“Well, the fire investigator says it was definitely arson. The guy, Mike Williams, did call the police when the church people were in his yard but they finished before the police could arrive, so no evidence there. But if the investigator doesn’t find proof that he didn’t burn it down, the guy’s going to be charged with arson. But Williams has no motive. His insurance policy is pretty low value, so he’s not even going to clean up with the payout.”
“I’m bored and that sounds like it might be kind of fun.”
“If you want, I’ll send it over, but I think this fellow is cracked.”
Trixie chuckled. “Things are quiet on this end. Send it on over and I’ll give it a look.”
“You got it.”
***
Trixie reviewed the file Fenton had emailed to her, making notes of who to start interviewing. The fire inspector of course, was at the top of her list. The church next door to the man’s home was a small one, based out of the leader’s home. Intrigued, Trixie Googled The One Holy Church of Higher Calling, and blinked a few times at the website’s appearance. Her twin sons could have designed a better site. With its garish colors, big fonts and blinking and scrolling message at the bottom of the screen, COME LEARN THE TRUE WORD OF GOD, it made her eyes hurt. She clicked on the Leader button.
It was run by a man named Freelove Hurlburt. Trixie couldn’t help but laugh, and made a note to find his real name. He claimed to be a descendent of Matthias The Prophet, the leader of the Kingdom of Matthias religion from the 1830s. But where his ancestor had gotten it wrong, Freelove Hurlburt had the true word of God, the site claimed.
Amused, Trixie scanned the About page. Freelove was a Doomsday preacher, it seemed, expounding about the degradation of human society that he claimed was the result of every group other than the white Christian male being promoted.
Typical cult sewage, Trixie thought, skimming the rest of the site. Just another bunch of kooks out to swindle innocent people.
Well, she thought, picking up her purse, she definitely needed to pay Mr. Hurlburt a visit.
***
Trixie scribbled her notes in her car, after meeting with Aaron Johnson, the fire inspector who confirmed a finding of arson on the house of Mike Williams.
Johnson didn’t suspect Williams. The guy was a nutball, and had no motive. His insurance payout wouldn’t begin to cover the damage, and Williams hadn’t even been sure he had fire insurance. He’d already been underwater on his mortgage, and the payout wouldn’t be enough to begin to wipe that debt out, let alone rebuild.
“I did look into the wife,” Johnson told her. “She didn’t care that the house burned down, evidently Williams was bringing his floozies in and out of it while they were together. She busted with him with one. So she didn’t seem upset about the fire.”
“Could she have set it?”
“Sure. He never changed the locks after she moved out. It was a simple gas fire, splashed around, heavy concentration on the curtains and sofas. Nothing special about the fuel used. Frankly, I think the wife did it, but she had an alibi that was pretty airtight.”
“You don’t suspect the church next door?”
He snorted. “You mean cult. They are seriously half baked. But no, I don’t think it was them. I think their leader prefers creepy intimidation to illegal activity. I think those performances and such were specifically to unnerve the guy, which clearly, it did.”
Johnson seemed on the level, and Trixie had reviewed the fire report thoroughly. She still needed to interview Mike Williams himself, but she couldn’t contain her curiosity. A quick call to the number she’d jotted down from the The One Holy Church of God website yielded her an appointment within the hour.
***
Trixie was greeted at the door of the Hurlburt house by a matronly woman in her sixties, with trim gray hair and a severe expression.
“Please follow me, Ms. Duke,” she intoned. Her long white dress was shapeless, plain white cotton.
Trixie squinted as she was let into the house. The lights were dim and the air was warm and heavy, scented with some incense that tickled her nose.
It was difficult to get a read on the woman in the dim lighting, but clearly she embraced her role as a faithful disciple. Back straight, she glided down the hall to a doorway covered in long ropes of beads. She swept aside the beads and announced, “Ms. Trixie Duke to see the Exalted One.”
“Thank you, Sister,” came a deep voice. “Please come in, Ms. Duke.”
“Thank you.” Trixie strolled in, her bullshit meter on high alert.
A tall, thin man with dark hair and a beard, wearing what looked to be a white loose shirt and pants rose from a mat on the floor where he’d been prostrate—in prayer?—when she’d entered the room.
“I am Freelove Hurlburt, Most Dedicated Disciple of His Greatness, our one Lord.” He extended his hand as if he expected to be kissed, so Trixie grasped his hand and pumped firmly.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Hurlburt,” she said cheerfully.
“I understand you wish to learn more about our group for potential membership?”
“Actually, no. I’m a private investigator and I’m here to talk with you about your neighbor, Mr. Williams.”
Hurlburt’s disdain was evident. “I have already spoken with the police and fire investigators. Do you work with them?”
“I’m a private investigator. I’m just helping solve the case.”
“Please sit, Ms. Duke. You will soon learn we are innocent of any claim, despite Mr. Williams’ rabid proclamations that we are Satan worshippers and arsonists.”
Trixie was already fairly certain they were innocent of the arson, but she was intrigued by this man. He moved languidly, with smooth arm movements, spoke slowly and had a pleasant voice. His eyes had a sleepy look to them, she noted. Whether natural, part of his facade or the result of smoking illegal substances, she wasn’t sure.
“Why would he think that?” Trixie asked. “I see no indicators here or on your website of such things.”
“We reject Satan in all his forms,” Hurlburt said in that smooth, calm voice. “We worship only our Supreme Being, the Almighty God.”
“Why does Mr. Williams think you worship Satan?” she asked again.
“He is unenlightened. The unenlightened and ignorant often misinterpret or fear that which they do not understand.”
He had a valid point on that, Trixie thought.
“We join together to raise our energies and vibrations in our worship of the Almighty God, and this scares Mr. Williams. And yet, he could go to any church and see the same activity. It is simply prayer, which we use to harmonize the world.”
“Did you and your followers ever perform your uh, prayers, in his yard?”
Hurlburt nodded slowly, his eyes still sleepy but, Trixie was certain she saw a gleam of craftiness in them.
“I realize it was trespassing, but that man is out of his head. He is a danger to us, and likely to himself. We did cross over to his property a time or two to raise protective energy against him.”
Trixie leaned forward. “Why do you think he’s a danger?”
“Ms. Duke, the man is deranged. He and his former lady would have huge arguments that we could hear, threatening each other with bodily harm. One time she chased him around the yard with a cleaver, and he chased her with a broom.”
Trixie wrote this down. None of it had been in the reports.
“They hurled such vicious insults at each other, I’m quite surprised they never physically attacked each other.”
Trixie made a note to check for domestic disturbance reports.
“After she moved out, she snuck back a time or two and took other items from the house. When he discovered things were missing he started blaming us. He pounded on our door one day and upset Sister greatly with his rantings. We called the police about that for harassment.”
“And your group prays on his property?”
“As I told the police, I know it was trespassing but his behavior was becoming so disturbing—he’d stand in his windows and stare at us.”
Williams said the same about them, Trixie thought.
“Or on his porch. I caught him using binoculars from and upstairs window one day, trying to see into our attic. So we stuck a dressmaker’s dummy in the window to stare back at him.”
Trixie managed to not chuckle. “So you’ve passive-aggressively been baiting Mr. Williams?” she asked.
“More like trying to beat him at his own game,” Hurlburt sighed with a touch of exaggerated weariness. “Frankly, we’ve done a lot of energy work to get him to just move away. The fire was a pleasant bonus in that it solved our problem. Not that I wish him harm,” he added hastily. “ I assure you, Ms. Duke, we had nothing to do with it. We do not strike at our enemies in physical form.”
Oddly enough, Trixie believed the old kook.
“God works in mysterious ways and this was clearly his message to move Williams away from us.”
“Well, thank you for your time Mr. Hurlburt.” She rose but he didn’t. The same “Sister” who had escorted her in, appeared in the doorway to escort her out.
“You’re very welcome Ms. Duke. We have fellowship dinners and a service here every week. This week’s meeting will be held here in just about an hour. We would greatly enjoy it if you would accept our hospitality.”
“No, thank you. I’m well taken care of,” she gave him a polite smile but didn’t linger.
***
Trixie looked around the restaurant, finally spotting a man sitting by himself, staring out a window. She approached cautiously.
“Mike Williams?” she asked.
He looked at her blankly, without recognition. Then he seemed to recall the appointment she’d made to speak with him, and his eyes focused.
“Yes. Ms. Duke?”
“Yes, nice to meet you.”
They shook hands and she slid into the booth across from him, opening her notebook.
“Thank you for meeting with me.”
“You’ve got to prove I didn’t set that fire!” he blurted out. “It was that ridiculous cult next door!”
“Well, Mr. Williams, let’s review the evidence and see what we’ve got to deal with. Let’s start with the church next door. Why do you think they set fire to your house?”
“Well-well-it had to be them!”
“Why?” Trixie asked patiently.
“Because they’re crazy! They worship Satan! I’ve seen them!”
Trixie resisted rolling her eyes. “What have you seen them doing?”
She knew of course, from reading the file. She had been over his statement, the crazed ranting about the kooks next door. There had been several incidents where he called the police to report them, but they were gone by the time the police arrived.
“They did rituals in my yard! They trespassed on my property and called on the devil!”
“What exactly were they doing?” she asked.
“They formed a circle, wearing those white robes, and they started doing crazy dance moves, and chanting! They did it around my car about two months ago, on the full moon, and later that week, my car died! Just stopped cold while I was driving it!”
“Did you have it checked out by a mechanic?”
“They gave me some line about the timing belt but the car was in perfect condition!”
Except it wasn’t. According to the mechanic’s report Trixie had already reviewed, Williams’ car had a number of problems that didn’t happen overnight. His car was a clunker to begin with.
“It was a full moon, they had lit candles, and they were chanting some crazy language!”
Trixie was, of course, writing information down.
“And the other time?”
“It was just two weeks ago—the full moon again. They were in my front yard, in their robes, doing their freaky dance and chanting again. And they had lit candles—big ones, like torches! And the next week, my house burned down!”
Trixie was aware they had begun to attract stares from the other diners in the restaurant.
“Did they ever threaten you directly?” she asked, keeping her voice low.
“They stand at the hedge between our yards and stare at me.”
“But have they threatened you? Verbally?”
“No,” he said sulkily. “I had to start closing my curtains at night because they’d stand in their window and stare into my house on the second level, trying to see into my bedroom!”
Trixie was fairly certain it was the dressmaker dummy Hurlburt had mentioned. Trixie also made note of the singular pronouns he used, not including his wife in any ‘we’.
“But I know they left the dead bird on my porch!”
Trixie had seen the pictures from the police report. “How do you know it’s them?”
He gaped at her. “Aren’t you listening? They’re crazy!”
“Mr. Williams, I am listening, but you have to understand, not only do we need to prove your innocence, but we have to prove who did it. And that means hard evidence that will stand up in court.”
After a few more minutes of his ranting, she finally had an opening to ask another question.
“What about your wife?”
“My wife? What does that crazy bitch have to do with it?”
Trixie withheld her sigh. This was going to be a long interview, and she was beginning to regret taking the case.
***
Trixie next stop was Cindy Dawon Williams, Mike’s soon-to-be-ex-wife. She was renting a one-bedroom apartment in a less than stellar part of town, and Trixie did a quick sweep of the area before exiting her car, making sure her 9mm was hidden under her jacket.
She rang the bell for the apartment and a loud, scratchy voice answered, “What?”
“Mrs. Williams? It’s Trixie Duke, I spoke to you earlier on the phone.”
The door buzzed and popped open.
Trixie opened it and walked through, wrinkling her nose at the strange smells of the hallway. She was fairly certain she could smell weed, urine and she didn’t want to know what else. Mrs. Williams’ unit was on the second level, and Trixie carefully made her way up there, stepping over abandoned toys and trash in the hallway. She found 2C, and knocked. There was the sound of a deadbolt unlocking, followed by a chain and the door opened. Trixie was hit in the face with the stench of stale cigarette smoke and tried not to gag.
Whatever Trixie had expected of Cindy Williams, this wasn’t it. The woman was several years older than her husband, and years of smoking had left her with deep creases in her skin, particularly around her eyes and lips. Her hair was bleached, but with several inches of dark roots showing. Trixie suspected it was not part of the latest ‘ombre’ hair trend. The woman’s brown eyes were hard, her lips thin and pressed together hard.
“What do you want?” Mrs. Williams demanded.
Trixie showed her PI license, trying to breathe through the stench. Even the woman’s breath was that of stale cigarette smoke. “I’m helping with the investigation of the arson case for your former house,” she said politely. “I was hoping to ask you a few questions.”
The woman just stared at Trixie, dead-eyed. “Whatever. I already spoke to the cops and the fire investigator.”
Trixie nodded. “I just had a couple of extra questions.”
Mrs. Williams rolled her eyes. “Go ahead.”
She didn’t offer Trixie a place to sit, and Trixie didn’t ask, since she was quite certain she did not want to sit on that sofa.
“When did you and Mr. Williams separate?” she asked. It was all she could to stop from twitching her nose. Underneath the cigarette stench were other odors, old food, and something else that nudged the back of Trixie’s mind.
“Couple months ago, after I caught him banging his latest floozy in our bed.”
“Had he done this before?”
“Oh, yeah. I use to find all sorts of things in his pockets, lacy panties, matchbooks, lipstick stains on his shirts. He ‘worked late’ so often, I followed him one night. Went right on over to whoever he was screwing, left thirty minutes later. They did it right on the sofa, so anyone could see.”
Trixie suspected the curtains had been mostly closed. “Did you see them?” she asked cautiously.
“Yep. Left the curtains opens and just went at it. That wasn’t the same tramp he brought to the house, by the way. And the panties in the car didn’t look big enough for either one.”
“Is that when you filed for divorce?”
“Hell, yeah. And demanding financial support. This shithole I’m living is barely affordable. I ought to get half of the insurance money for the fire!”
Trixie knew from the reports no one had told Mrs. Williams there wouldn’t be any money. If she didn’t know that—and it sure sounded like she was expecting a portion of the payout—the soon-to-be ex-wife’s motive just got stronger.
“Did you co-own the house?” Trixie asked.
“No, that scum bought it before we were married, but I lived there for six years, took care of it and decorated it. I deserve half!”
Trixie wasn’t getting into that with her. “Have you talked to your husband since the fire?” she asked.
“Not since he called me up wailing about the fire and needing a place to live but I just told him I expected half the insurance money and hung up.”
“Did you have anything of value in the house when it burned?”
“Nope, I took all my stuff beforehand.”
Trixie felt her intuition buzzing. She was fairly certain Mrs. Williams was the culprit, which Aaron Johnson had thought, too. But she needed some proof.
After a few more round of listening to Mike Williams’ sexual escapades, Trixie thanked her and left. Mrs. Williams had given no new information that wasn’t already in the police and arson investigation reports. They had searched both her car and her apartment without finding anything that could link her back to the fire. Trixie didn’t think the woman was overly bright, but if she had something to hide, she was doing a good job of it.
Once back into the fresh air, Trixie took several deep breaths and glanced at her car to ensure it was still intact. Everything looked fine, so she initiated step two of her investigation of Cindy Williams. Pulling a pair of latex gloves from her handbag, Trixie slipped around the back of the building. She also had a disposable plastic suit in the large purse. It wouldn’t be the first time she had gone dumpster diving.
She could smell gasoline over the trash and she perked up. It was common for people working on their cars that lived in apartment complexes to pull them around back, hoping the super wouldn’t catch them. But a gas can? Had someone tossed one out?
Trixie snapped on double pairs of latex gloves to root through the easier to reach bags, which weren’t many at her short height. She moved around the cardboard boxes, hoping for something good. As she tossed the last box to the side, the sun glinted off something tucked into the corner.
Stepping around, her eyes widened at the sight of a red plastic gas can tucked into the corner of the dumpster enclosure. Was it going to be this easy?
Of course, she reminded herself, anyone could have put that can here. Keeping her gloves on, she removed a large plastic bag from her purse and opened it. Picking up the can, she slipped it into bag. It was almost empty. Why hadn’t the person just tossed it in the dumpster? She eyed it. It was tall, and Mrs. Williams was about her height. But she could probably toss it in there without too much trouble. It would be better to do so, bury it in the trash bags.
There was a 50-50 chance this can was the arson source, but Trixie needed to check it for prints. And how had the Aaron missed it? The report said the fire investigator had checked around here. Maybe Cindy Williams had stashed it elsewhere, and waited until the initial furor died down. Cell phone records had already been obtained; Mrs. Williams had called her husband frequently since the fire, but he had been ignoring her calls, so it wasn’t exactly a lie she hadn’t talked to him. It also explained why Mrs. Williams didn’t know that there would be no insurance money.
Trixie hurried to her car, clutching the bag with the gas can in it.
***
Aaron Johnson carefully lifted the prints off of the gas can. Placing the tape against the white card, Trixie called up Mrs. Williams’ fingerprints on the laptop. She and her husband had both been arrested for domestic disturbance and their prints were on file.
Aaron slowly lifted another print. There were a number of smudged prints that were useless, but three clear prints stood out.
“Let’s see who we’ve got,” he said. Trixie turned the laptop around and they compared the prints on the screen to the first print Aaron had lifted.
“Nope. His?”
Trixie flipped the screen. Not a match there, either.
Aaron held up the second print. Not Mike’s. Trixie flipped it back to Mrs. Williams.
“Right ring finger, boom,” Aaron held it up.
The third print was also hers, the right middle.
“She is right handed,” Trixie noted, “at the very least, she wears her watch on her left hand and her signature indicates it.”
Aaron nodded. “It’s not a smoking gun, no pun intended, but it certainly does implicate her. No idea about the other print but anyone could have picked up that can. But we’ve got two for her. I’ll let the officer on the case know, see if we can get a warrant for in-depth searching. Good thing trash cans are public property.”
“Trash talks,” Trixie chuckled.
***
Aaron called her several hours later.
“We got the warrant and did some deeper searching. There wasn’t much else to find, but Mrs. Williams’ internet search history did show research on the easiest way to start a fire inside a house and where to place it. Once she was confronted, she crumbled pretty quickly. She did it for the insurance money. She figured she’d ruin him, and then collect the money. Williams wasn’t taking her calls, because he knew she’d flip over there being no money and accuse him of hiding it, etc. So she’s in jail, and he’s appealing to the insurance company—but they never bend on arson. So he’ll have quite a bit to deal with.”
“So the cult was innocent,” Trixie said.
“Yep. They may be goofy old quacks but they did not burn the place down. They could get a charge of trespassing, maybe.”
“Revenge, the world’s oldest motive,” Trixie shook her head.
“Appreciate your help on this one Ms. Duke,” Aaron said. “I’ll keep you in mind next time we need a little extra sleuthing.”
“My pleasure,” Trixie smiled into the phone.
Moments later she hung up. Time to write up her report and send it over to Fenton, so he’d cut her a check for her time and effort, and she could make that hair salon appointment. If only all of her cases could be solved so quickly!
***
Author’s note: Freelove Hurlburt is a real person, and my ancestor. She belongs to the line of my family that started a religion called the Rogerenes in the 1600s. It ran for about 400 years, dying out in the early 20th century. I came across all of this in my genealogy searches and it was too entertaining to pass up using somewhere! We are NOT related to the cult of Matthias, and I made up the church name for story purposes.
Meet the cast in full & see the family tree!
Author’s Notes
- 12 years as a Jix author, wow! It's been a Hell of a ride. Thanks to everyone for the support over the years. Hopefully I'll be posting chapters more often!
-Special thanks to MaryN and Ronda for editing this!
- Word Count, 4,369
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