TODAY, ON THE BLOG WE ARE THRILLED TO WELCOME BACK, AUTHOR ROBIN LEEMAN DONOVAN, WHO IS SHARING CHAPTER 6 OF HER NOVEL, 'IS IT STILL MURDER EVEN IF SHE WAS A BITCH?' #RWRTeamBlog #ReadWriteRepeat
- 2 days ago
- 12 min read
CHAPTER 6
The next morning was sunny and magnificent. Then, a thought of Ed made everything seem less perfect. With a heavy heart, I made my way to the kitchen to start the bulldog breakfast parade. It was almost impossible not to feel hopeful while dodging a kitchen full of hungry and breakfasting bulldogs in an effort to sit down and eat your own meal. I was feeling better already.
I pulled into the parking lot across from the station house while keeping an eye out for “my crew.” Naturally, Peg and Babs had beat me there. We assembled in the parking lot and had a 2-minute briefing before heading into the station to ask the desk sergeant for Warren.
“She should be back within 20 minutes to ½ hour,” he informed us.
Damn! This was going to take longer than anticipated. I offered to treat for coffee at the Scooter’s around the corner rather than hang around the station awaiting Warren’s return. The desk sergeant even agreed to send Warren around to join us if her schedule permitted. After we ordered and were sitting, sipping our hot cups of “waking up easy,” Babs decided hat she’d been hasty in passing up that offer of a scone; so she headed back to the line.
With one person ahead of her, Babs decided to peruse the glass counter filled with goodies. She moved from one side to the other, bending down to examine some of the more appealing treats. Apparently, Babs made her decision at just about the same time another customer entered the coffee shop. Unbeknownst to each other, Babs was crossing to regain her rightful place in line, while still leaning in to examine her chosen delicacy, at the same moment the aforementioned gentleman approached what he thought was the end of the line, Babs leaned down for a last look. The tall, raincoat clad customer smacked into her bent form with a force that lifted him up and over the coffee counter. He continued sliding across the counter slamming into both the barista and the large, scaldingly hot coffee dispenser, as Peg launched into action.
I sat stunned watching Peg propel herself onto the right side of the counter-surfing customer with significant force, resulting in sounds of bone crunching and glass smashing. Just as Babs lifted herself to a standing position, the surfer’s feet swung around and hit her shoulder, propelling her toward Peg, perched atop the raincoated projectile.
I shrugged and rose, not sure of what, if anything, I could do to help. By the time I reached the counter it was clear that the tall raincoat clad customer had been injured and was in a great deal of pain. Babs returned to a standing position, but as we worked to right Peg, she struggled to retain her grasp on her quarry. Before we had a chance to even begin to restore order, Warren arrived on the scene.
Oh shit! This was decidedly not the ideal way to accomplish our goal of discreetly digging for information about Ed’s accident. Warren would be far less receptive as she witnessed another of our unfortunate and very public mishaps. When Peg, Babs and I travelled together there was usually carnage. This would be bad for all of us.
I pondered exactly what had happened here and what to do about fixing it, when something even more unexpected occurred. It started with a subtle change of expression on Warren’s face. She went from annoyed and put upon to determined and aggressive as she sprang into action. In one smooth movement, Warren pulled out her gun and handcuffs. I was more baffled than ever. Was she going to arrest Babs and Peg?
As I stood by like a dummy, Warren took over possession of the counter surfer relieving Peg of her charge. Peg immediately turned to check on Babs and help her back up, while Warren pulled a gun from the surfer’s raincoat and read him his rights. What the hell?
During the next several minutes I watched as Babs and Peg turned from klutzy and crazy co-workers to recognized public heroes. As it happens, Babs’ earlier bumbling mishap had been more than a little fortuitous. Had the gentleman been an innocent customer, looking for his morning coffee, it would have been horribly embarrassing. In reality, when the eagle-eyed Peg glanced over during the fray she caught site of a glimpse of a revolver and sprang into action. Once she spotted the gun, Peg dedicated herself to getting control of both the gun and the situation.
Thank heaven Warren arrived when she did, or I would inadvertently have thwarted Peg in her heroic efforts in order to minimize damage against the unsuspecting customer. As Warren explained before hauling her prisoner off to the station, when she first walked in she read the situation. On closer inspection, her carefully trained powers of observation turned to the raincoat, so out of place on a beautiful, warm, sunny day, and her suspicions were immediately aroused. It took another second or two before the glint of steel told her all she’d need to know. She had to stabilize the perpetrator and keep these courageous citizens safe.
Warren finished her arrest and her check for injuries that would require immediate treatment; no ambulance was called. We pieced together the last of the details for a full understanding of exactly what had occurred on that once peaceful morning. There had been a series of hold-ups over the past few weeks. A tall gunman in a nondescript raincoat held up convenience stores, fast food restaurants and coffee shops. His m.o. was to glide in quietly, pull his gun on the unsuspecting counter help and sneak out before customers even knew what had occurred. With no compelling or noticeable physical attributes, the raincoat was the only common and notable denominator – and Warren was no slouch.
Warren suggested we give her a ½ hour for processing and then head over to the station to give her our statements. She paid the barista to serve us all cups of tea – since coffee had ceased to be an option.
By the time we reached the station, there were reporters with camera crews and photographers to interview Peg and Babs. I looked at them and shook my head. One thing I knew, life would never be dull.
Babs tried her hardest to direct all the attention toward Peg.
“I just collided with the guy,” she insisted to no avail, “Peg is the hero here!”
I was so proud of “my girls.” How often did a pair of menopausal women rise to stardom as the superheroes in their hometown? There they stood, Peg, diminutive with short flat hair and Babs, taller with a fluff of curls framing her face. They were both clad in their work uniform of jeans and t-shirts as they told their stories to the reporters. As the owner of the ad agency where both women worked, the reporters wanted a short statement from me. I was cool. I told them what Peg and Babs had done that morning to make the city safer for everyone was par for the course for these two amazing women. They did not just become superheroes this morning. We were beaming as we reached the offices of Marcel and an impromptu ticker tape parade for our conquering heroes!
Just after lunch my phone rang.
“Okay Donna,” our friendly police investigator, Warren started, “you had come down to the station to see me, right? What can I do for you?”
“Well,” I began.
“Let me see if I can guess,” she went on, “might this have something to do with the recent, tragic traffic fatality of a friend of yours? Are you starting to itch for another investigation?”
She was smart. I found that somewhat annoying in such a young, attractive woman. She held a high-powered job as chief homicide investigator in the city of Omaha, and she was thin and beautiful with long
dark brown hair. She had it all, the career, the looks, the sense of style AND brains. Enough already!
Actually, I really like Warren. I admire and respect her; she treats me with equal respect. Yes, she is a very intelligent young woman.
“Look Detective,” I jumped in, “I don’t, for one minute, see this as a game of some sort. Ed and his wife Eva have been good friends of ours for quite a while now; it’s just that a mutual friend has suggested the accident was not exactly accidental. Believe me, I’ve had quite enough murder for a long time; but it’s hard to ignore your friends when they reach out.”
Having two of my less enjoyable acquaintances brutally murdered within the past two years was really more than enough. It was still tough to accept, even after working with the police to bring the killers to justice. Having friends murdered is just not something you get used to.
“Relax Donna,” Warren assured me, “I’m just busting your chops. Your friend has the kind of instincts we look for in a homicide cop.”
“I’ll be sure to tell him,” I murmured, “so Detective, does this mean Ed was murdered?”
“Let’s just say that we’re not ruling murder out entirely at this point,” Warren confirmed, “we’re not taking anything at face value in this case. And I wouldn’t mind talking to that friend of yours, the one with good instincts.”
“But Detective,” I pressed, “that means you really think its murder, doesn’t it?”
It’s never easy to get the inside scoop on what a homicide detective is really thinking. They are masters at keeping things close to the vest. I get that they have to keep things “under wraps” to some extent, but not
knowing if Ed had lost his life accidentally or to a brutal murderer was making me incredibly nervous, and anxious for Eva and Abby.
“Let’s just keep an open mind,” Warren went on in her matter-of-fact, but damningly non-committal manner. What could I do? But I was no quitter!
“Please Detective Warren, Ed’s family is important to me. If there is any more pain and horror headed their way, I’d like to try to help in any way I can.”
“Just keep your eyes and ears open, Donna,” Warren suggested.
In my book, that was as good as asking me to help with her investigation. It was going to be difficult keeping things discreet until we knew exactly what we were dealing with; I had no doubt that Warren had
what it took to keep things quiet until it was time to go public. I just hope I could be as adept; I’d hate to make things even slightly worse for Ed’s family.
Just as I was ending my call with Warren my partner, Liv, walked over to my workspace.
“Ready for the latest?” she began, “got a call from Clovis.”
Of course you did. Clovis Cordoba Seville, a former Marcel employee (and I use that term extremely loosely considering all the work she didn’t do while she was on board) could sniff out trouble and attention getting opportunities with frightening alacrity. Perhaps it was because she hailed from a family of Romanian gypsies who claimed to corner the market on voyeuristic ability.
It never ceased to amaze me that tiny little Clovis, with her waifish figure clad in boring but stylish garments all cut a size or two larger than her frail little frame required, creating the image of a shrinking woman, could elicit enormous angst by the mere mention of her name. Her big fluff of severely damaged over color treated hair added a tragic element to the shrinking body/growing garments persona. Although she was fully convinced she was hot enough to hold a paralyzing attraction for virtually anyone who gazed upon her fashion model-like countenance, Clovis was more than a little bit creepy. And once you added her screechy/sing-songy voice to the mix, it was like the exorcism of a haunting ghost who was reluctant to pass over. I shuddered just thinking of her – for so many reasons.
I steeled myself for the onslaught I knew was unstoppable.
“Alright, what’s her deal?” I asked.
“She wanted to let me know you were showboating again,” Liv shared.
I thought I detected the slightest bit of amusement.
“Showboating? Let me guess, how dare I submit to an on-camera interview without somehow managing to involve “her nibs.”
“Bingo,” Liv confirmed my wild ass guess, “and let me add, that’s the fastest you’ve ever hit on the psycho “topic du jour.”
I wasn’t sure if I should feel pride in my deductive reasoning or fear that I was starting to understand how that twisted mind thinks. Best not to tax my brain in this manner; a good soldier always presses on.
“What else?” I continued. I could feel the dread mounting within.
“Ha, you know her well, Donna,” Liv confirmed, that as I’d come to expect with Clovis, there was always a price to pay.
“She wants you to fix your oversight,” Liv stated almost too calmly.
I racked my brain for a possible clue to her expectations. If nothing else, Clovis was helpful in keeping the mind sharp and clear – always useful in the journey through menopause. This time I was just not landing
anywhere at all.
“My oversight,” I mused aloud, “so I should call the reporters and ask for a follow-up interview in which I lament I should have mentioned that all I have, and all I’ve become, I owe to this amazing and annoying little person?”
“Not quite,” Liv smirked, “you’ve got the ridiculous part down, but you should indeed contact the reporters and tell them that Clovis had assumed that coffee shop would be the next target hit by the armed robber. She’d been stopping in for her morning coffee on a daily basis knowing that his attempt was bound to take place fairly soon. It just so happens that Clovis’ alarm clock failed to go off this morning, so she got a later start than usual. The outfit she selected smacked of a wardrobe malfunction – don’t ask – so another delay as she carefully selected the day’s attire. Then the traffic lights; of all mornings for every light en-route to be red – this was catastrophic! By the time Clovis reached the street to begin searching for a parking space you were conducting the last few seconds of your on-camera quote – the quote that should rightfully have been hers!”
“Well, when you put it that way, I can totally see why it was my fault!”
“Clovis and I were both sure that you’d see it her way once it was explained to you. After all, it was probably her Romanian Gypsy telepathy that sent you to the coffee shop when she herself was unable to get there in time.”
“No other way TO see it,” I confirmed, “how could I have been so blind?” I struggled to conceal a double eye roll and a full body shudder.
“Clovis is completely ready to forgive you for missing the obvious,” Liv kept right on going, “she knows you don’t have the superior intellect for truly high level reasoning, and she believes that your chronic self-
centeredness will always cause you to grab the limelight when the opportunity arises. As long as you see to it that things are righted now she will happily forgive you.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Knowing your questionable character, Clovis never expected you to embrace “doing the right thing,” Liv countered.
Just as she was getting to the punchline there was a commotion in the vicinity of the front door – Clovis!
“Ah, there she is now,” Liv nodded knowingly, “she just assumed it would take a personal visit to get you on the straight and narrow.” And without skipping a beat, “Now get her out of here before all hell breaks loose. If the staff thinks she’s doing anything more than passing through, we’ll have an uprising on our hands!” as she marched into the nearest conference room and firmly closed the door. Sure, easy for her to say!
Busted! Set up, even. I glanced through the glass of the French doors in the conference room where Liv took refuge in order to give her my best “arctic chill” look. She would not remain totally unscathed from her duplicitous act! Sadly, my facial retribution was lost on Liv who was struggling to remain composed. Good one, my friend. You got me this time! Ever the good loser I turned toward an approaching tsunami of screech.
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AUTHOR BIO
Robin Leemann Donovan is the author of the blog, Menologues, which is a humorous yet informative look at the trials and tribulations of menopause by someone who’s been there. Menologues has been republished on two commercial sites: Vibrant Nation and Alltop, and has won regional honors for social media.
Donovan was born and raised in New Jersey, but lived and worked in Connecticut for a number of years before moving to Nebraska in 1999. Starting her career as a high school English teacher, Donovan moved into advertising in the early 80s. In 1999, she accepted a job offer from the legendary Bozell, a global ad agency that was founded in Omaha. In late 2001, she and three colleagues purchased the original Omaha office of Bozell from its New York based parent company. In 2021 she was named an Enterprising Woman of the Year by the national publication Enterprising Women. In December of 2023, Donovan sold Bozell to a group of employees and retired to focus on murder mysteries and French Bulldogs not to mention, a bit of skiing.
Donovan lives with her husband and two French Bulldogs, Frank and Ellie in their home in Eden, Utah.
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COMING SOON: On Monday, 6th April, author and poet, Rikke Rose Rasmussen, is sharing her second 'Writing To Heal' post.
