Susan’s Snippets with Bobbi Johnson and Marilyn Edling
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Susan’s face filled the tiny screen lying on the usual picnic table. She winked at the camera, slowly backing away to reveal her surroundings.
“I’m standing in front of the gorgeous Tudor home where Andrew Heenan lived before his mysterious disappearance in 1987. The house currently belongs to Don and Bobbi Johnson, who took ownership mere months after Andrew went missing.”
She stepped aside, sweeping an arm in a Vanna White flourish as if the house was a game show prize. “Look at the beautiful stonework and handsome landscaping. Wouldn’t you kill for a home like this?”
She turned her head and gave the camera a coy, confiding look. “Don is a retired realtor. I bet the deal they got was a steal. I hoped to talk to the Johnsons this morning, but they haven’t responded to my requests for an interview.”
Susan extended a hand and drew an elderly woman on screen. The woman peered at Susan, then turned tiny, raisin eyes to the camera, setting a bulldog mouth.
“With me today is Marilyn Edling. Say hello to our viewers, Marilyn.”
Marilyn pursed her lips and gave a half-hearted queen’s wave to the camera, peering as if she thought Susan’s viewers were inside.
“Marilyn has lived across the street since 1974, years before Andrew Heenan moved in. She’s the only person alive who remembers the missing magician. Marilyn, have the police interviewed you about Andrew?”
“I talked to that detective, but I could tell he wasn’t interested in what I had to say.”
Susan crinkled her brow in reporterly concern. “Why do you say he wasn’t interested?”
“He scribbled some words in a little book and that was it. I’ve heard none of it on the news. They’re hiding the truth about that man.”
Wide eyes from Susan. “What are the police hiding? What does the public need to know about Andrew Heenan?”
Marilyn stared into the camera, her face trembling in outrage. “The man was a pervert.”
Susan’s eyes widened in fake shock. “No!”
“He had that young girl coming around all the time, staying for hours. I know they weren’t related because he had no family. She was barely old enough to drive!”
“It was an improper relationship?”
Marilyn huffed, “A man that age, pulling coins out of the ears of children. If you ask me, that was just an excuse to put his hands on them. That’s what John Gacy did, dressed up as a clown to lure young boys to their doom. They should be checking the back yard for buried bodies.”
“Mrs. Edling—”
A door slammed, loud and sharp as a gunshot. A woman stormed across the yard, fury emanating from her broad face. Susan turned to the woman with a welcoming smile. “Mrs. Johnson! This is a treat. I’d hoped to talk to you today.”
“I will thank you not to record your seedy videos on my lawn.”
Susan took a step back, her voice prim. “As you can see, we are standing on the sidewalk, which is a public thoroughfare. I know my rights, Mrs. Johnson. But if you have something you’d like to say to my viewers—” Susan paused and smiled. “—we’re dying to hear it.”
“What I have to say about this invasion of privacy is not fit for public consumption.” She retreated. Lia thought she could see steam coming from Bobbi’s ears, but that might have been a trick of the light.
Susan returned to the camera with wide eyes and a simpering laugh. “We’ve touched a nerve with that one. Wonder what she’ll think when—”
Behind her, Bobbi Johnson opened her front door. A pair of barking maniacs charged into the yard, twin blurs of multi-colored fur, the lead dog all wild blue eyes and snarling teeth.
“Lily, Danny, down!”
The larger dog dropped with a happy grin. The other stood, snapping and growling an arm’s reach from Susan.
Susan squealed, “Get away, get away.”
Bobbi Johnson called again, “Lily, down!”
Lily gave Bobbi a resentful look and eased herself, grumbling, onto the grass. She turned her crazed blue eyes back to Susan, accompanied by a thuggish canine sneer. Bobbi joined the dogs, leashes dangling from one hand.
“If you don’t mind, my dogs and I are availing ourselves of the public thoroughfare. As I understand it, your rights do not include blocking my way.” She jerked her chin at the street. “Is that your Cadillac? Danny needs a place to—”
The screen went black.
Susan reappeared in closeup. “The Johnsons clearly have something to hide. Don’t worry, I’ll be back. Next time I’ll bring pepper spray.”
___________
Bailey tapped the screen, sending Susan into the mysterious reaches of the internet, or maybe perdition.
Lia stroked the head of the pup currently snoozing in her Moby wrap, thankful she had yet to show signs of aggression. “Handsome aussies, even if the little girl has a temper.”
“She’s reacting to Bobbi Johnson’s feelings,” Bailey said.
“Protecting her territory, and I can’t blame her,” Jim said.
“I won’t worry about Susan anymore. Bobbi Johnson will take care of her for me. Lily will dine on long pork for months.”
“Shades of John Wayne Gacy,” Steve said.
“Not Gacy,” Terry said. “Dahmer. If Ms. Johnson invites you over for barbecue, I suggest you decline.”
Lia stretched out with Peter on his enormous sofa, her head against his shoulder. Gypsy sat on his stomach, snapping at the kernel of popcorn Lia waved in front of her nose. Viola curled on her dog bed, placed where Peter could drop a hand and give her a rub. Chewy sat, head cocked, eyes on the images running across the silent forty-eight inch flat screen TV hanging on the wall.
Peter’s phone dinged. Lia craned her head as he pulled up a text. “Who is it?”
“Cynth. She sent me a photo of her parkour date.”
“Oooh, let me see.”
“I don’t think I should. He’s a manly man.”
“If he was that manly, she’d be swooning in his arms instead of texting you.”
“Good point.”
Peter tilted the screen to show her a sweaty hunk vaulting over a rail, muscles bulging and rust-colored dreadlocks flying, his exposed limbs covered with an array of Celtic tattoos.
Lia took the phone, pinched out the photo so she could examine the ink. “Looks like he escaped from Asgard. I hope you don’t mind if I fantasize about him tonight.”
“Fantasize all you want in your cold, lonely bed.”
“Seriously, aren’t you going to text her back?”
“No. She’s hoping that photo will make its way to Brent. I refuse to participate in their sick, twisted mind games.”
Lia tapped a reply:
Stop pointing out my inadequacies to my girlfriend.
She showed the screen to Peter, her finger poised over the send arrow. “What do you think?”
Peter twisted as he grabbed for the phone. Gypsy yelped, tumbling from her perch on his stomach.
Lia caught Gypsy before she fell off the sofa and cuddled her, apologizing to the stricken puppy eyes. Gypsy looked over her shoulder and barked.
On the TV screen, a montage of shots followed Aubrey Morse and an entourage of Yacht Club members as they paddled down Mill Creek, ending in front of the crater with the exposed roots of the downed tree behind them.
Susan and Terry were nowhere in sight. The screen cut away to a commercial.
“I notice they didn’t show Aubrey getting out of the canoe.”
“You’re a cruel woman.”
“Just pointing out facts.”
“I thought the float trip was for Susan’s video blog,” Peter said.
Lia fed popcorn to Chewy and Gypsy. “That was the original plan. Terry said Commodore decided to maximize their exposure. He took over the whole thing and sent Terry’s romantic canoe trip off the rails.”
Peter laughed. “That wasn’t ever going to happen.”
“Worse, Susan made a date with Dick Brewer. Terry’s heart is broken.”
Aubrey returned, standing in front of the crater with a short, bearded man. Peter pointed the remote at the screen, unmuting it.
“We’re on the banks of Mill Creek with local crime historian Jay Overstreet, who has a shocking theory about the man whose bones were uncovered after a recent storm. Jay, Andrew Heenan was buried here more than thirty years ago, but you believe this story goes back much further than that.”
Peter groaned. “This can’t be good.”
“I do, Aubrey. Andrew Heenan has ties to Newport’s Sin City gambling days.”
Peter snorted, making his chest jerk under Lia’s cheek. “Public spirited of him to come forward.”
“Many Cincinnatians are not aware that before Las Vegas, Newport, Kentucky was the national hotspot for gambling and adult entertainment. Frank Sinatra, Marilyn Monroe, and Dean Martin are a few of the big stars who spent their weekends on and off the stages of Newport’s clubs.
“Before they died, old-timers from Sin City told a story about a magician named Marvelous Malachi who stole millions of dollars in gold, gems, and priceless art from the Beverly Hills Country Club, then fell afoul of the mob.”
“Damn!” The sound exploded out of Peter’s chest, causing Gypsy to startle.
“Shhhh!” Lia said. “I want to hear.”
Aubrey continued, “Why do you believe Andrew Heenan was Marvelous Malachi?”
“One of the stories about Malachi claimed he Houdinied his way out of a leg manacle that had been riveted shut and no one knew how he did it.”
Aubry’s mouth dropped. “You think he cut off his own foot?”
“Simple explanations are often the best. Andrew Heenan was a magician. He was the right age, with no past and no known family. The amputated leg paints a compelling picture.”
“What do you believe happened to him?”
“It’s obvious, isn’t it? Someone killed him to get the money.”
“Do you think they succeeded?”
“It’s been eighty years since the theft and the stolen art never reappeared. Marvelous Malachi’s haul is still out there.”
Peter zapped Aubrey’s faux-astonished face into oblivion. “Susan hates being upstaged. Somewhere there’s an Aubrey Morse doll with its head twisted off.”
“They make Aubrey Morse dolls?”
“If they don’t, Susan stitched one up. I may borrow it and feed it to the garbage disposal. We can forget that lazy Sunday.”