Voice Mail Murder

Chapter Twenty-Two





How fast had she fallen asleep? It probably really didn’t even require Rocky’s special milk ambrosia that he had concocted for her along with a nice bowl of his minestrone. What was in it? Surely not alcohol, because she didn’t feel tipsy; she just felt blissfully floating. Floating on water, like a very calm ocean—maybe the Caribbean. It felt good. Warm, soft, gently rocking her.

It was almost possible to forget about the hectic day she’d just spent or the horrific events of the last week. It was wonderful to experience this relaxing sensation—like a vacation. She felt the waves lapping at her feet, pulling gently at her sides, but still allowing her to sleep, to rest. She could see—well, maybe not see—creatures floating by. Fish? Maybe. Large creatures, coming closer. One looked very much like—Shoop! One looked like Shoop. Yes, there he was standing up on some sort of surf-board, his long, grey trench coat flapping in the tropical breeze. And the man was barefoot! What! she thought. Shoop would never walk around barefoot. Oh, it was a dream, she remembered.

It was Shoop, all right. He was motioning to her, his face frozen in that infuriating smirk of his. She couldn’t help but laugh as she glanced down at his shoeless feet. He had his pant legs rolled up, supposedly, she presumed, to keep them dry, but that wasn’t going to happen. He was drenched. Still, he beckoned her—wherever she was. She wasn’t sure. But he was looking right at her. She could hear music—like that tinkling island marimba band music playing in the distance. Shoop did a leap in the air and he and his surf-board flipped around and headed out into open waters, overcoat flying in the breeze. She followed—she didn’t know quite how.

Shoop twisted and turned over one wave crest after another. When they had reached a point far from—where would it be far from? She wondered. When they had reached wherever Shoop intended, he did a huge spring in the air and dove, surf-board and all, straight down in the ocean. Now how did he do that? Why would he do that? She followed, foolishly, she thought. I don’t have a snorkel, she was thinking. Shoop doesn’t have a snorkel. Stop this, Pamela. It’s a dream. Go with it! Shoop glided on his board underwater, leading Pamela around various coral structures until they finally reached the opening of an underground cave. Shoop sped through the entrance.

I guess he wants me to follow him, she thought languidly. Not really wanting to venture into a dark cave, and enjoying the beauty of the undersea landscape, she hesitated. Shoop suddenly appeared at the cave entrance waving at her frantically. She entered the dark, foreboding waters of the underground cave. Everywhere she looked, strange creatures glided past her, some coming within inches of her face. Yet, she felt strangely calm and safe. She could see Shoop ahead in a somewhat lighted area. The area was an indentation in the sandy floor. Here discarded objects from above had accumulated. In the center of a pile of detritus was a dilapidated old bed frame, including the box springs and even a mattress, its tufting now water logged. As Pamela looked down, another object beside the mattress came into view—the body of a man lying face down.

Shoop swam to the body and pulled the mattress off the bed frame. Pamela moved closer. She could see a shiny object—red and silver. It was new although how it could have been there hidden under this bed and still be new she didn’t know . She reached out in her dream to grab the object and the man on the ocean floor grabbed her leg. She could feel his hand on her flesh in her dream. The calm, relaxing quality of her lovely dream was morphing into a nightmare. She felt herself twisting and turning in her sleep. In her dream, she dropped the object and pulled away from the dead body’s grasp.

Just as she pulled back, a group of football players, all in uniform, and all wearing cleats, stormed through the water like an underwater ballet. In formation, they crossed over the body and stepped on his back with their cleats. As each cleat punctured the man’s skin, a geyser of blood spurted into the surrounding water, taking the surrounding liquid from clear to murky almost instantly. The team of men seemed oblivious to the body that they were stepping on; they moved with graceful precision and uniformity. When all of the men had crossed the man’s torso, Shoop reached down and picked up the shiny red and silver object and swam back to her. It was not the cell phone that she assumed it would be. It was the remote control to their living room television set. Shoop handed her the device. She clicked it on and Rocky suddenly appeared on a screen above the antique bed. His head was swimming on the water screen like that of the Wizard in Oz.

“Pamela,” Rocky intoned from high above them, “What are you doing down here?”

She felt guilty. How would she explain to Rocky what she was doing underwater in the South Caribbean with Shoop? How would she explain what she was doing with a dead body and a team of football players in a motel room? This was her worst nightmare. This was a nightmare.

“I can explain,” she cried out in her dream. “I can explain, Rocky!” Shoop just laughed as she reached out to the large Rocky head on the screen above them. Suddenly, Shoop took the red and silver remote and pressed the button and Rocky disappeared, screen and all. But Shoop evidently had other goodies to show her. He flapped his overcoat in the water again and headed off on his surfboard. She followed because she didn’t know what else to do.

Around a coral reef, Shoop stopped and motioned for her to stop. In the distance they could see a group of fish—or something—coming towards them. Shoop motioned for her to hide behind the reef. She crouched down behind him. Soon, it became apparent what the creatures were a troop of mermaids. At least, she assumed they were mermaids. They had fish bottoms and human tops. She and Shoop watched as the mermaids—at least a dozen of them—gathered around the body of the man on the ocean floor.

This is ridiculous, she thought. I can’t get away from this case, even in my dreams. She watched helplessly as the group of strange mer-creatures knelt before the man. One stroked his head. One took his hand and squeezed it. All of them looked miserable and sad. Eventually, one of the creatures indicated to the others that they should take the man, and all of the mermaids gathered together and lifted him. Moving the large man underwater would have been difficult for a group of men, but it was almost impossible for a group of women—especially women with no legs to stand on. However, working together, the band of fish women eventually managed to lift the man and carry him away.

When they had disappeared, Shoop waved to her to follow him and he swam upwards. She could feel the water temperature starting to rise. As they reached the surface of the water, she relished how much warmer it was above than below in the murky depths where Shoop had shown her the body. Now Shoop was . . . . Wait a minute. Where had Shoop gone? She glanced around the surface of the tropical island where Shoop had deposited her, but the man in the overcoat was nowhere to be seen. She felt herself relax on the warm sand of a beach, the waves gently nipping at her toes. The sunlight warmed her. The waves at her toes tickled. They tickled. Stop that.





Opening her eyes, she found herself in her own bed. It was morning and sunlight was streaming into her bedroom window. She had thrown off her comforter and Candide was at the foot of her bed nibbling on her feet.

Yawning luxuriously, she grabbed her little poodle and squeezed him tight.

“So it’s you tickling my toes, Candide!” she said to the dog. “And I thought I was on vacation.”

“Are you up?” yelled Rocky from their kitchen. “I thought I heard you.”

“You did,” she called back. “Talking to my buddy!”

Rocky rounded the corner of their bedroom and plopped down beside her. “I thought I was your buddy.”

“You’re more than just a buddy,” she responded, reaching out to nuzzle his unshaven face. “What did you put in that milk drink you poured down me last night?”

“Why? Didn’t it set well with your stomach?” he answered, standing and heading for the bathroom.

“No,” she replied. “It gave me the strangest dream!”

He popped his head back into their bedroom. “How strange?” he asked with a leer.

“Not that kind of strange,” she said. “Alice in Wonderland kind of strange.”

“Oh, you mean, you think I put some sort of hallucinogen in it.”

“I dreamt that Shoop took me for an underwater adventure complete with a dead body, an entire football team, and a troop—is it troop?—of mermaids.”

“Sounds like you’re trying to solve that coach’s murder in your sleep,” said Rocky, now starting his morning shaving ritual. He came back to the bed where she was still reclining. His face was covered with shaving cream.

“Ooo, you look all whipped creamy!” she exclaimed as he sat next to her on the bed.

“Now why couldn’t you have said that last night and not this morning when I have forty minutes to get to class?” He headed back to the sink and started in on his left cheek.

“Sorry,” she pouted. “Yesterday was a marathon. I pooped out on you.”

“Do you feel rested?” he asked in an altered voice as he ran the razor around his upper lip.

“Actually, I feel fantastic!” She stretched cat-like and smiled.

“Then the milk ambrosia worked,” he concluded, rubbing toner briskly onto his face. “Weird dreams must just be one of its side effects.”

“I guess,” she agreed. “But don’t lose that recipe.” She smiled and leaned back on the headboard. Her lethargy was interrupted by the jarring ring of the bedside telephone. “Barnes’ residence,” she answered.

“Dr. Barnes,” intoned the familiar voice of Detective Shoop, “I see you’re awake.”

“Detective,” she replied, as Rocky sat on the edge of the bed to pull on his trousers, “it seems like only yesterday. Oh, wait a minute, it was only yesterday.” She yawned.

“We’ve run into a glitch in questioning the mothers of the team members,” he informed her.

“How so?” she asked, “You couldn’t find the third speaker?”

“Oh, we found her all right,” he snarled, “but so did our killer. She’s dead.”