Justine Carter  Justine Carter's Mystery "DC/DC" Podcast #1 Honestly, I don’t know anything about blogs or on line correspondence, but I have an incredible set of circumstances to share with anyone who would like to listen.  When I say what happened was incredible, I should say it was at least incredible to me.  Before we go on please let me give you a way to discuss this with me.  I am as likely as not going to leave out important information or state what happened unclearly, so when I do so, please just leave me a comment on this site and I’ll clarify to the best of my ability. My name is Justine Carter .  I’m contentedly single , work at a job I’ve enjoyed and held for fifteen years, and I expect to live and work here at least forty more years.  Whether you or like it or not, you are currently my closest confidant, so don’t let me down.  Please grab something warm and delicious to drink, incidentally I’m drinking a Honey Latte, and get comfortable in front of your computer screen. I want to share a series of events with you, actually events surrounding a murder in my apartment. Please join me in a cup of honey latte as you digest the first chapter of DC/DC, Drinking Coffee /Discussing Christopher, a murder mystery Nancy

Chapter 1 - Honey Latte

Chapter One/ Honey Latte Christopher Charles Carver was seventeen when I first met him.  Extremely likeable, he was very clever about most things, like how to impress his teachers and friends’ parents; however, there was a naiveté about him.  He was particularly vulnerable to beautiful women, and could never tell when they were telling him the truth.  His charm could win the finest heart.  Unfortunately, he never seemed to choose “the finest heart“. His mother, Wanda, called him C.C.  She and I were close friends through his high school years, and I felt particularly fond of him, enough so that I worried with Wanda about where his choices in women might lead him. As is often the case, life leads people who are close to each other down different paths.  The Carvers, both Wanda and C.C. moved to the East Coast, and since then I’d had only sparse news about their lives for nearly eight years now.  C. C had completed school and was doing something in sales, and Wanda was happily remarried and living a pleasingly vagabond life in a lovely motor home with her new husband.  I missed  the evenings Wanda and I shared  and what we referred to as our D C/D C nights, drinking coffee/discussing Christopher.  Imaginably, I was both delighted and surprised to answer the door on a Sunday evening to find C.C. full twinkle in his eye and overnight bag in his hand, standing on the other side. We spent the next several hours drinking honey latte and reminiscing.   The warmth of the coffee and memories was delightful and comforting.    It wasn’t until 2 AM that the conversation  experienced even the slightest pause. With that pause, the sparkle in C.C’s eyes glistened with tears, and  I noticed for the first time that his face seemed to draw shadows that his youth never knew.  I encouraged him to share what was troubling him, but he assured me that it was just the memories and the hour that had made him maudlin.  I showed him the spare room and we parted to sleep with plans to talk further the next evening when I returned from work.  He would grill steaks, and we’d kick back and “talk about the serious side of life”. Our reunion was nearly two weeks ago.  He was gone when I returned from work with the wine and the steaks for our supper.  There was no note, no call , and since then I’d heard nothing from him.  I was concerned, but assumed that he really didn’t want to talk about what seemed to be troubling him.  I tried phoning Wanda, but the number I had for her was an old one, no longer working.  I proceeded with the routine of my own life and wondered what even had  brought him to my door.

Chapter 2 - Earl Grey Breakfast Tea

Chapter Two  Earl Grey Breakfast Tea  Share a cup of tea with me and meet Lindsey Carver. Two weeks had passed since my brief visit from C.C.  As I collected the mail Monday morning, I discovered a letter posted from New Jersey.  It was addressed to Christopher Charles Carver  , in care of me, Justine Carter.  As I placed the letter on my desk to await the reappearance of my vanished guest, or word from him, I  noticed the name on the return address was Lindsey Carver.   I  couldn’t  help but wonder at the odds that Charles had chosen a faithful, loving spouse who even now thought he was here visiting an old friend.  Before I could entertain the idea another moment, a knock at the door revealed another unexpected visitor.  Here was a beautiful , young woman, slightly out of breath who revealed to me that she was C.C.’s wife. As she entered my apartment she smiled a winsome smile and apologized for being out of breath because she “seldom took the stairs anymore”.   I stood agape  as she whisked about the room, noticed the letter addressed to Charles on my desk, picked it up, smiled, and put it down.  She flopped somewhat gracefully  on to my couch and  announced that she had heard  all about me from C.C.  I was a bit taken aback with my early morning visitor, for I had planned to eat breakfast and head to work momentarily.  Instead I phoned my boss to tell him that I had unexpected company from out of town and that I’d be in shortly before noon. Lindsey and I polished off a breakfast that she declared “fit to die for” and settled back with a cup of tea.  Although our ensuing conversation was pleasant, we actually talked about nothing of substance.  I was , however, amazed to learn that she was neither shaken nor surprised to learn Charles wasn’t here.  It was almost as though the only thing she and he had in common was showing up on my doorstep unannounced. With an engaging smile and no explanation, she asked if she could “camp out” through noon today because she knew no one in town and would not need to be at her appointment until 2:30.  This was the first indication of why she was in town, and there was no further reference as to where or with whom she was meeting.  All I really knew about her was that she and C.C. were married three years ago and that she had never met my friend Wanda because she and C.C. lived “up the coast from his mom”.  “Not much of an excuse never to have met your husband’s mother” I thought, but with little time before my train in to work, I left her with the TV remote and an “I wish we could have talked more”.

Chapter 3 - Just Water Please

Chapter three ~ Just Water , please. At work I had a difficult time focusing on my project; after all, I had left someone who was basically a stranger alone in my apartment.  I don’t know what I must have been thinking; there was something so engaging about  her that I simply had felt like I knew her.  By 1:00 I was filled with questions and concerns, and I called home to ask Lindsey to come back after her appointment  and stay with me rather than checking in to a hotel.  I wanted to learn why ,after not hearing form C.C. for so long, had he and Lindsey appeared on my doorstep out of the blue.  Other questions cluttered my mind.  Where had C.C. gone, and why hadn’t I heard from him? In the conversation  that he and I had , he never once mentioned Lindsey.  Why not?  Why did Lindsey write a letter to him, send it in my care, and then suddenly appear? Why was she  not more concerned about his disappearance ? I thought of the unopened letter and wished I had exercised less restraint. I wish I had opened  it.  I certainly would do so when I arrived home.  Maybe it would provide some answers.  By the fifth ring I had assumed that Lindsey must already have left for her appointment when the phone was answered gruffly by a male voice.  The more demanding I was in inquiring who he was, the more he insisted on knowing my name.  Although I was perturbed about having to explain myself to a stranger answering my phone, I explained that I was Justine Carter and that he was intruding in my apartment.  My anger turned to panic when he alerted me that he was Detective Pearson and needed to speak with me immediately and I must return home now. I slumped back into my chair.  Initially the questions racing through my head were information based.  Had someone broken  in to my apartment?  Why were the police called, and who called them? Was Lindsey still there?  On the train ride home, my questions shifted.  The entire ride home was a blur as the personal affront began to take hold of me.  What was happening and why was it happening to me?  As I looked in the faces of other commuters, I saw people who looked like their day was no different from any other day.  “They weren’t hurrying home to find why a detective had answered the phones in their apartments!” I  held my throbbing head.  I began to feel angry with my disappearing houseguest for introducing this chaos into my life.  I had enjoyed a sense of calmness and order .  Now I wondered if my life would ever be the same. Upon arriving home I was greeted with the havoc surrounding a television crime scene, but the horror of it all was that the ambulance, squad cars, and yellow tape were at my home, at my apartment!  Immediately inside I was mesmerized by a huge wine red pool of blood in front of the couch.  Lindsey had been zipped into a body bag and was being removed on a gurney.  In a nightmarish daze, I was quickly ushered through my living room to the bedroom where Detective Ian Pearson guided me to a chair.  Perhaps I was pitiful because the detective who had been so gruff and insensitive on the phone leaned down to look me in the eyes ,assured me that I was not the subject of police inquiry , and inquired as to whether I needed a drink. “No, no”, I stammered, just water ,please.

Chapter 4 - Iced Tea With Fresh Mint

Chapter Four - Iced Tea with Fresh Mint I was fearful, confused, and near panic.  With tears in my eyes I asked  the detective if he knew where C.C. was.  He looked at me rather exasperated and explained that he had more questions than answers.  My question had opened the door to over two hours of interrogation regarding C.C. and his relationship to me. I feebly explained that he was like a nephew to me , but in fact there was no familial relationship.  Little of our interview focused on Lindsey.  The notion that C.C. was the center of our interview concerned me, for although Detective Pearson disclosed little, I felt certain that the police suspected  he was involved, probably responsible for Lindsey’s murder. Upon being convinced that I knew less about what had occurred then he did, Pearson took what little information I did have regarding C.C. and Lindsey .  Little was revealed to me, but I surmised that Lindsey had been beaten with a paperweight from my desk because this treasure, ironically a going away gift from Wanda, was bloody and had been carefully bagged into evidence. I really don’t know how long investigators prowled through my home or exactly how long Detective Pearson spent quizzing me, but finally the buzz of activity and seemingly endless questions subsided. As a parting thought Pearson offered to make arrangements for me to sleep somewhere else.  He assured me that he felt the horrible event had nothing to do with me personally and that he was certain my safety was not a concern.  My decision to stay or go was totally dependant  on my own comfort. There was no one  in my life whom I considered dangerous.  I’ve lived my whole adult life on my own, and I wasn’t going to surrender to feelings of insecurity now. I’d certainly stay in my own home. All of the police equipment was gathered up and Pearson and his troops left.  Only then did I remember Lindsey’s letter to C.C.  Knowing it was likely relevant to the investigation of her murder, I ran to catch  the detective. and reached him at the elevator door.  Advising him of the letter,  I returned to collect it for him.  I knew exactly where I had placed it, but it was gone.  I looked again and again, each time more carefully, but to no avail. He said he’d check for it in Lindsey’s things that they had collected.  Perhaps she had reclaimed it knowing that C.C wasn’t  here to read it. He encouraged me not to worry and invited me to call him if anything else came to mind.  He left for the second time that evening.  This time as I turned to settle in to my reclaimed space I felt  very much alone.  Home didn’t really feel much like home. My head was throbbing .  All I wanted was a refreshing glass of iced tea, some fresh mint from my window cell herb garden,  and a comfortable chair.  I wanted to look out my window at the park below and let every thought pounding in my head fly away.