Crime Fiction by Maurice Givens
After eighteen months, Robert White was beginning to feel like his life was returning. He no longer felt dead. After the mess in the city ended, and with time, he had discarded most of the unpleasantness, but he couldn’t erase the image of Sarah’s body on the kitchen floor, lifeless and pale. His wife of 25 years was gone. Two months after that night, no longer able to endure living in the house where she died, Robert had packed up what remained of his life, left the chaotic city, and opened the Providence Restaurant, in the small sleepy town of Hastings. Now, a year and a half after the unpleasantness, life was becoming good.
Then he and his head cook opened the restaurant one morning and found someone sitting in one of the booths playing chess.
“Hey mister, you can’t be in here. We’re not open yet,” John said. The man didn’t move.
Walking toward the booth, Robert said, “Sir, did you hear? We’re not open. You have to leave.” The man remained motionless. When Robert put his hand on the man’s shoulder the man fell over. A dead man was sitting in one of the booths … playing chess.
John stared at the dead man in the booth, unable to understand what was happening. He suddenly stumbled back when he realized the game was in checkmate; the dead man had lost.
Robert resigned himself to the situation, took a deep breath, and let out a sigh. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and punched in a number.
“911 emergency.”
Hastings didn’t have a police department, and the meager 911 service covered the entire county.
“Ellie, this is Robert White at the restaurant. I need the sheriff.”
Hastings was a town of 500 people. It had a cafe, a diner actually, and that’s all the local farmers needed. It seemed self-defeating, suicidal even, to open a restaurant with an owner that called himself an executive chef, serving fancy food. Everybody knew the farmers wouldn’t eat there. They weren’t going to eat lamb burgers, much less Mediterranean minced lamb. Provençal grilled chicken? No way. Robert put in tables and booths. There wasn’t even a counter. The tables had white tablecloths. The farmers would be scared they would spill something and dirty them. People couldn’t just walk in and sit down, they had to wait by the door, then be told where to sit.
The interstate exit for Hastings was five miles away, an hour and a half from the city. The cafe got tourists who were driving the back roads. Providence got the more affluent tourist looking for something a bit upscale.
Ellie was the daytime 911 dispatcher. She lived in Hastings, much to Robert’s regret. It seemed that anything told to her spread like the flu.
“Bob, what’s the emergency? Is everything okay over there? Are you guys all right?”
“We’re fine, just send the sheriff. There’s a dead man in my restaurant.”
“Did you say dead man? Are you sure? Sheriff’s on the other side of the county. I dispatched the deputy and called the state police.”
“Thanks, Ellie.”
“Other than your dead man, it’s a fine spring morning isn’t it?”
“Yes, Ellie, it is. I have to get back—”
“It was such a nice day, I took a walk down to the lake before coming to work.”
“That’s nice, Ellie. I have to get back—”
“There’s a new family down at the lake. Six ducklings in all. Spring is finally here.”
“Ellie! I have to get back to the restaurant.”
Robert’s phone rang right after he ended the 911 call.
“Mr. White, this is deputy sheriff Williams, I’m on my way to your place. Don’t touch anything, don’t move anything, and keep the restaurant closed ’til the state gets there.”
“Lunch is in about two hours. That’s my busiest time.”
“I’m sorry, but you’ll have to keep the place closed.”
“So much for it being a nice day.”
“Boss,” John said, “the crew is coming in.” Robert’s employees were beginning to arrive.
“We have a problem, John,” Robert, said hitting END on his phone.
“Do you think?”
Robert’s phone rang.
“I’ll go let everybody know what’s happening,” John said.
“Good morning, Robert. This is Sheriff Grady. Deputy Williams tells me you have a situation over there.”
“You could say that.”
“I can’t get there this afternoon. I’ll talk to the state later today and see you tomorrow morning.”
“Okay.”
***
A little over a month ago, Ellie called Robert, and he frowned when he looked at the caller ID.
“Afternoon, Bob.”
“Good afternoon, Ellie. What can I do for you?”
“Did you hear about the new man in town?”
“What new man?”
“Mr. Nathaniel Clark. He came a week ago. Between the two of you, our town’s going to get some class.”
“How so?”
“You with that fancy restaurant, and him starting a chess club.”
“I thought you said he’s only been here a week.”
“Yep.”
“He’s starting a chess club already?”
“Yep.”
“Interesting,” Robert said.
“He’s got ten people signed up so far.”
“I didn’t know people here played chess,” Robert said.
“They don’t,” Ellie said. “They’re learning.”
“Well, that’s good. I have to go.”
“You play chess? You seem like the type.”
“I played in high school and college.”
“I knew it. You gonna join Mr. Clark’s chess club?”
“I don’t think so.”
“He bought the Miller house.”
“He who?”
“Mr. Clark, silly.”
“Goodbye, Ellie.”
***
Robert looked at the man in the booth, taking in the reality, not wanting to move. The dead man Nathaniel Clark. Robert thought back eighteen months. Back to when he found Sarah. When it happened, Robert didn’t take Sarah’s death well. At first he refused to it. Then he shut himself up in his house, and stared at Sarah’s picture. Sarah’s best friend, Rose, did his grocery shopping and cooked for him. Rose was his savior.
Twenty months after the unpleasantness, Rose came to Hastings to see how he was doing and lend support for the new restaurant. She returned to the city raving of the exquisite aromas wafting from the kitchen, and the delicate flavors Robert was able to bring out in his food. She spoke to everyone she knew. She spoke at great length with her friend, Joan, from WXCT-TV.
The feature the station ran on Robert’s restaurant was all that was needed. “This is the epitome of a hidden jewel,” Joan had said to her TV audience. “What Robert White has done with a fusion of locally available ingredients, and exquisite, delicate flavors is nothing short of genius. Chef White has even taken the lowly hamburger and raised it to Parisian levels by using locally raised lamb, local vegetables, and exotic spices. Providence Restaurant is definitely worth the hour and a half drive to the country. Take the time to enjoy the beautiful, quaint town of Hastings.”
Since then, on weekends, Hastings was a bustling mecca.
***
Robert knew that with this dead man, the TV news hosts would soon be in Hastings with their TV trucks reporting on the “Mysterious Chess Game Death at the Providence Restaurant.” The weekend crowd would linger around the Providence hoping to get a glimpse of the death booth, as it would become known.
As if choreographed, the employees in the back of the restaurant began pulling out cell phones. Word of the dead man spread through Hastings within one hour.
The calls started to come in. Robert answered each one. “Providence Restaurant, may I help you?”
“Bob, sorry to hear what happened. Did you know the guy? Who was he?”
“He came to town a few weeks ago, George.”
More calls came in. “Hey Bob, are you selling tickets to see the death booth?”
“No, we’re not selling tickets.”
Many callers asked, “Is the restaurant open? After all, you have a dead man there.”
“We’ll open later today,” Robert answered.
It didn’t take long for the news to reach outside Hastings. “Mr. White, I’m Christopher Binder, president of the City Chess Club.”
“I hesitate to ask,” said Robert, “but why is a chess club from the city calling me?”
“I’ve been instructed by my board of directors to ask if you have the chess set. If you do, we want to buy it. It would go in our museum.”
“Mr. Binder, that is inappropriate and disgusting.”
John walked up to the table where Robert was sitting.
“How are you holding up, boss?”
“I’m okay.”
“That sure is strange, him sitting there looking straight ahead. Can’t I at least close his eyes?” John asked.
“Deputy Williams said don’t touch him.”
Robert and John walked to the back of the dining room and gathered everybody. “We’ve had a stressful day so far,” Robert began. “I’m going to leave it to you if we stay open today. Either way, I’ll pay you for the day. If we close, the bad news is the servers won’t get any tips. If we stay open, we may get busy with gapers and the curious wanting to see the booth where it happened. If the servers want to stay, we all stay.”
John said, “We’ve already decided we’re staying. The death booth is out, we’re not going near it.”
“Don’t worry, I plan to have it removed tomorrow.”
“Here comes the state trooper,” John said.
“Mr. White?” asked the trooper.
“That’s me.”
Trooper Jackson was about six feet tall. His uniform was neat, but not starched and pressed. It looked like a working uniform. He couldn’t be called muscle-bound, although he obviously took care of himself. With the buzz haircut Trooper Jackson had, Robert wondered if he had been in the military, maybe the Marines.
“I take it that’s the corpse?” The trooper approached the booth with the lone patron. “Why don’t you tell me what happened from the time you came in ’til now.”
Robert related the events of the morning to Trooper Jackson.
“Did you come in the front or the back?” Trooper Jackson asked.
“The back.”
“Was the door locked when you came in?” asked Trooper Jackson.
“Yes, I had to unlock it.”
“Who unlocked the front door?”
“What?” Robert asked.
“The front door. Who unlocked it?”
“I don’t know.” Robert’s response was hesitant. “I didn’t.”
“Somebody did,” said Trooper Jackson. “I walked through an unlocked front door when I got here.”
“John,” Robert called to his head cook. “Did you open the front door?”
“No, I came in the back with you.”
“John, make sure the door is locked,” Robert said.
“Stop!” demanded Trooper Jackson. “Don’t touch that door until after we examine it. Somebody must have unlocked it. Is it possible nobody locked it last night?”
“No,” said John. “I locked it myself before I left.”
“What time was that?”
“Around 11:30 or so. It was after we cleaned the kitchen and dining room.”
“You didn’t lock up, Mr. White?” Trooper Jackson asked.
“No, I left about 9:30. John and I share closing. He does it one day, and I do it another.”
“John,” asked Trooper Jackson, “was the corpse here when you locked up?”
“No, sir! Absolutely not. Nobody was here.”
“Did this guy just walk in?” Trooper Jackson looked toward a noise he heard. “Good, the evidence techs are here.”
“Hey Jim, what ‘cha got?” asked the photographer.
“Over in the booth there. Make sure you get a clean shot of the chess board before you bag it,” said Trooper Jackson.
“I’ll be damned. Did he croak playing chess?”
“We don’t know. Also, get a close-up of the lock on the front door. Get one before and after they dust for prints. Mr. White, the county coroner should be here directly. After we look for fingerprints and get evidence, you can open up.”
“You’re taking fingerprints? You think he was killed?”
“No, but if we find out next week that it was a homicide, it’ll be too late to get evidence.”
Today was different. The questions were different. This was definitely different than it was that night.
***
That night Robert came home after work to find his wife’s body. They took him to the station and kept him all night with no sleep, while detective after detective questioned him.
“Mr. White, where were you tonight?”
“I was at work. I found Sarah when I got home. She was lying there, not moving. I didn’t know what to do. She was just lying there.” Robert began to cry. “I called 911. They said they would send the paramedics. I didn’t know what else to do.”
“What time did you leave work, Mr. White?”
“About 10:30. I had some paperwork I needed to finish. What happened? Do you know how she died?”
“She was killed. It was a homicide,” the detective said.
“No. That’s not possible. Everybody likes Sarah. Nobody would want to kill her. Who would want to do this?”
“We don’t know yet, Mr. White.”
“Oh my God. Sarah’s gone.” Robert cried again. “How did she die?”
“It looks like she was hit with something that cracked her skull. I’m guessing she died from bleeding on the brain. We’ll know more after the medical examiner does his autopsy.”
“Oh my poor Sarah.”
“What time did you leave this morning, Mr. White?”
“I told you, about 10:30. It usually takes me a half-hour to drive home.”
“No, Mr. White. Not what time you left work. What time did you leave the house this morning to go to work?”
“Huh, this morning? What difference does that make?” Robert asked.
“It could help us pin down the time of your wife’s death.”
“Doesn’t the coroner do that?”
“Mr. White, the time you left your house this morning?”
“I don’t know, around five o’clock I guess.”
“Can you be a little more specific about the time?”
“That’s about the time I usually leave. Somewhere around five.”
“What do you do, Mr. White?”
“What do you mean?”
“What’s your job?”
“I’m a chef.”
“You left home at five, it takes you half an hour to get to work. So you start cooking at five thirty?”
“Of course not. I don’t go to work in the clothes I cook in. I changed, then we had to start cutting things up, putting things together to cook. All kinds of things like that.”
“Did you and your wife have an argument recently?”
“No, we didn’t have an argument.”
“Were you at work all day? Can anyone vouch for your whereabouts?”
“What? You make it sound like I killed my wife.”
“We explore all possibilities.”
When they let him go the next morning, there was an unmarked police car parked in front of his home. When he went to unlock his door, he was alarmed to find it was already unlocked. He looked at the unmarked car. Had the police searched his house while they had him at the station? Instead, it was Rose. Robert found her in the dining room dusting furniture.
“Rose, what are you doing here? How did you get in?”
“Sarah gave me a key. I couldn’t stay at home by myself, so I came here. She was my best friend. I miss her already.”
“Why are you cleaning?”
“I had to do something. I went to the grocery store for you, too.”
“Thanks, but that wasn’t necessary.”
“Yes it was, for me. You have my sincere sympathy.”
“I don’t know how to deal with this. I don’t know how I’m supposed to act.”
“Robert,” Rose said placing her hand on his shoulder, “you act however you want.”
“Right now, I want to find the bastard that did this.”
“And what would you do if you found him?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are you the type of person that could kill out of revenge?”
“Ask me that yesterday, and I say no. Today, I don’t know. Maybe.”
Craig, from across the street, walked into Robert’s house.
“I have something you might want to see.” Craig handed Robert a DVD. “I was recording my boys throwing the ball around yesterday.”
They went to the living room where Robert placed the disc in the player, turned on the TV and ran the DVD.
Craig pointed to a man in the background standing in front of Robert’s home. “I thought that was strange, so I brought a copy over here.”
“Do you recognize him?” Rose asked.
“No,” said Robert. “Do you know him, Craig?”
“The video is a little too fuzzy for me to say.”
“Did you show this to the police?” asked Robert.
“Yep. They said it wasn’t important. It was just some guy walking past your house.”
“He isn’t walking,” Robert said. “He’s standing there.”
Robert played the DVD again, then played it several times more. He stopped on frames when he thought he had a clear picture of the man’s face. He strained, but could get nothing. The man’s face was hidden by his raised arm.
Every night he played the recording. Every night he was frustrated. His wife’s murderer wasn’t found. Eventually the police left him alone and marked the case as unsolved. Robert never gave up on finding out who the man was on the recording.
***
Trooper Jackson began talking, “Well, Mr. White, the evidence people are almost through. Maybe another hour or so. I’m afraid the dusting powder makes a mess.”
“That’s okay,” said John.
“Mr. White, I’m sorry to hear what happened in your restaurant,” a voice said from the doorway
Robert turned to see a five-foot-four woman standing in the door. Her slightly curled brown hair landed just below her shoulders. Light hazel eyes gave her an intriguing appearance. They seemed to penetrate Robert and know everything he was thinking. Her wrinkled uniform was testament to her having driven for a couple hours.
“Sheriff Grady? I thought you were away and couldn’t get here,” Robert said.
“I cut things off early. This is more important. This has to be weird. Tell me what happened.”
“I have it all in my notes,” Trooper Jackson said.
“I’m sure you do. I want to hear it from Mr. White. And don’t leave anything out.”
“There’s not much to tell. John and I opened up this morning and found this guy sitting in the booth. John told him he had to go, but of course he couldn’t do that. I mean being dead and all.”
“Trooper Jackson, let’s now hear what you have to add.”
“He’s Nathaniel Clark, white male, forty-six. Ellie said he moved here about six weeks ago. His ID didn’t have his address here. Mr. White says Ellie knows his address.”
“Excuse me a minute.” Sheriff Grady pulled out her cell phone and called Ellie.
“Ellie, I have a few questions for you.”
“Is this about the dead man at Robert’s place?”
“His name is Nathaniel Clark.”
“The new guy?”
“Yes. What can you tell me about him?”
“He came to town a little over six weeks ago, kept to himself. He bought the old Miller house.”
“Go on. What else about Mr. Clark?”
“He was a chess player in the city, and got a few people in town to start learning chess. That’s about it.”
“Okay, thanks.” Sheriff Grady moved back to Robert and John. “I’ll be taking over the investigation. If either of you think of something, let me know.”
***
A couple weeks before the chess-playing dead man incident, Robert was surprised to see his wife’s friend, Rose, entering with a smartly dressed woman. “Robert, this is my friend Joan,” Rose said. “She’s the TV person that did the feature on your restaurant two weeks ago.”
Robert could easily see why she was a TV personality. Her peach pantsuit fit like it was tailored for her. Its color accented her ruddy complexion and aqua-blue eyes. She entered with a confidence that exuded authority and self-control.
“I can’t think you enough,” Robert said. “Since your TV show, business has been great on weekends.”
“I only said what I believed. Your restaurant is great. If people are coming from the city, then they agree with me. Rose told me about your wife’s murder, and the DVD you have. I’ve talked to my video engineers at the station, and they said they might be able clean up the video and make it sharper. I’m offering to take the DVD with me to see what they can do.”
Robert was reluctant to relinquish the disc.
“Why would you offer to do this? Are you going to use it for your show? I don’t think I want to tell the world about my personal business.”
“I promise not to air it,” Joan said. “I’m doing this as a favor to Rose.”
“As long as it doesn’t go any further than this, why not.”
“I’ll bring it back next weekend,” Joan said.
“I appreciate the offer. Anything your engineers can do is welcomed. Ya know what? Let me fix you lunch. It’s the least I can do for your help. I have an Asian style honey-soy-glazed chicken I’ve been playing around with. It’s a new recipe I’m developing. How would you two like to be taste testers and review it for me?”
“That sounds great,” Rose said.
“Can I have the exclusive for its introduction?” Joan asked.
“That’s fair. I’ll let you know when I bring it out.”
“I just thought of something,” Joan said. “Do you have internet here?”
“Sure.”
“We can send my guys the video over the internet. They can work on it while we eat.”
Joan pulled out her phone and made a call. “Georgette, this is Joan. The video we talked about will be on its way in a minute by email.” She turned to face Robert. “Mr. White, show me your computer. While you cook, I’ll send the video file off.”
Joan and Rose followed Robert to his office in back of the kitchen. Robert logged on the computer and Joan sat and typed. While she worked, he cooked. She hit RETURN, stood and said, “There it goes.”
She and Rose returned to the table for the special treat. Rose looked at her watch, “How long will it take them?” she asked.
“There goes my phone now.”
“That was quick.”
“Georgette,” Joan said, answering the phone.
“We got the file,” Georgette said. “What are you looking for? It’s a video of some kids playing ball.”
“We’re trying to identify the man standing in front of the house across the street from the kids. Look for anything that’s unusual or unique. Something that gives us a clue as to who this guy is, or how we can spot him if we saw him on the street.”
“We’ll see what we can do.”
Robert approached their table with plates on a serving tray. “Ladies, here you are. Let me know what you like. I especially want to know what you don’t like.”
“It looks wonderful,” Rose said.
“And smells even better,” Joan said.
Rose and Joan ate in silence, savoring every morsel and mouthful. When they finished, each sat back, fully sated.
Robert returned to their table. “How was everything?”
“Fantastic,” Rose said.
“I second that.”
“There must be something you didn’t like. Don’t spare my feelings. I need honest feedback.”
“The only criticism I have,” Joan said, “is you need to get a liquor license so you can serve a nice wine with it.”
“That’s coming. My weekend crowd has already chided me on that.”
Joan’s phone began buzzing. She answered, “Hey Georgette, what ‘cha got? I’m putting you on speakerphone.”
“We were able to clean up some parts of the video you sent. The shoes seemed promising at first. They didn’t look like what you would get at an ordinary shoe store. I sent you a blowup of that. We checked with a shoe store downtown. They said it’s a common brand and style. No help there. We did a blowup of the face area, but that didn’t help either. The gentleman’s face is mostly hidden. I sent you that blowup too. Anything else?”
Joan brought up the close-ups on her phone.
“One sec.” She turned the phone so Robert could see the image. “What do you think?”
“I still don’t know who he is. What’s that smudge on the back of his neck?”
“We saw that too,” Georgette said. “It looks like a shadow.”
“Can you clear that up, only that smudge area?” Robert asked.
Speaking off to the side, Georgette asked, “Frank, can you blow up the shadow on the neck? Thanks. It’ll be there in a minute, Joan.”
Off to the side again, Georgette asked, “What? Are you kidding? Joan, Frank says the shadow is actually a tattoo. Here’s the blowup. Do you see that?”
Robert, Rose, and Joan strained to see the blurred image. Then it came into focus.
GRND MSTR 2016
“Does anyone know what it means?” Joan asked.
“We do now. One of the news guys just walked by, looked at the blowup, and asked ‘who’s the grand master?’ He says the tattoo means grand master 2016. He said it’s the highest level in chess. Whoever this guy is, he made grand master in 2016.”
“Thank you very much,” Robert said. “Joan, can you send those blowups to me?” He provided his email address.”
“Done.”
“I hope that helps,” Georgette said.
“It’s more than I had before,” Robert said. “Again, thanks.”
The weekend following Joan’s visit, Robert saw a new customer having dinner in his restaurant. Robert was glad for the new business, and went to welcome him to the restaurant.
“Good evening. Welcome to Providence Restaurant. I’m Robert White, the owner. I hope your experience here in the restaurant has been a good one so far.”
“Yes, it has, thank you. My name is Nathaniel Clark.”
“Ah, Mr. Clark. Welcome to Hastings. I understand you play chess.”
“Yes, indeed. It’s one of my passions. Do you play?”
“I used to play a little. I haven’t played in many years. Not since college.”
“We should play some time.”
“I don’t know. I’m probably way too rusty.”
“It would be fun. You could join the chess club I started. You’d lose the rust in no time. I made grand master in 2016. I could give you a few pointers.”
Robert’s heart leapt. He stole a look down the man’s neck. “It might be interesting, at that,” Robert said. “I would have to do it after the restaurant closed. We’re too busy otherwise.”
“That’s fine. What time?”
“Tell you what. Let’s make it day after tomorrow. That’s a Monday, and we’re usually slow. We should be able to close around 11:30. Is midnight too late for you?”
“Not at all. Midnight, day after tomorrow. My house?”
“Wouldn’t dream of it. We can play right here. I’ll make a few special hors d’oeuvres, just for you.”
“That sounds great. See you then.”
“Looking forward to it,” Robert said. “I’ll leave the door unlocked for you.”
***
The police were almost through with their preliminary investigation and beginning to gather their equipment. “Mr. White,” Trooper Jackson said, “the coroner is finished. We’ll put the corpse in a body bag and remove him.”
“Robert,” Sheriff Grady addressed him, “I’m leaving too. We didn’t get a lot of evidence. This may be one of our unsolved cases. If anything new comes up, I’ll let you know. You can go ahead and open up now. Hope the rest of your day is better than the start.”
Sheriff Grady walked in front of the gurney as they left. When the gurney came past Robert, under his breath, he whispered, “Checkmate, you bastard.”
Turning away from the gurney, “John, let’s open.”
Yes, today was different.
Bio: Maurice Givens was born in New Orleans, Louisiana in 1945, the second son of N. A. Givens and first son of Bernice Givens. He moved to Chicago at the age of 9, where he has remained. He spent the majority of his professional career performing research in applied mathematics for signal processing, publishing over 20 peer-reviewed academic papers, and a chapter in a signal processing book. In the fall of 2002, he began teaching as an adjunct lecturer in mathematics at the City Colleges of Chicago. Beginning his fiction writing career after retiring from academia, he wrote short stories and worked on novels. Maurice’s recent story accepted for publication includes “Foul Ball” in Malice Domestic’s 2023 Anthology: Mystery Most Traditional.
Maurice is an affiliate member of Mystery Writers of America, a member of Crime Writers of Color, and a member of Short Mystery Fiction Society. He has studied with Story Studio of Chicago, Mystery Writers of America Midwest Chapter (MWAMW), and The Midwest Writers Workshop at Ball State University. He also studied with a published author in a year-long mentorship. Maurice is an inspector general and former investigating officer in the U. S. Air Force Auxiliary (Civil Air Patrol) with the rank of colonel. Maurice lives in Chicago, Illinois with his wife, Susan Burnet.
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Great fast moving story with interesting characters.
Thank you for your comment. The writer does a great job.
The author displays excellent skills with dialogue. Very well-written overall, with a professional polish to the entire story.
He is a very good writer. Thank you for your comment.