09.4 Circus in Corpus Christi

Linda Linz, pretty tanned in skin, sat in the backyard turf on a canvas folding chair having her breakfast. A morning sun shown on the grass. A wooden picket fence around the courtyard gave little privacy. The bareness quite abundant under the sky. She was twenty-eight years old, smart and single. Legs stretched out, five feet nine inches tall, wearing a white sun hat and Ray-Ban sunglasses – a self-made millionaire.

Quite coincidental that she wanted to see Natalia in person and for some absurd reason – pleasure.

906 was a two-storey brick house on a quiet cul-de-sac with three bedrooms and two baths, breakfast bar, and living space, built in 1984. Exterior finished in coral and salmon colours. Linda Linz bought this house under hundred thousand dollars.

Linda placed Natalia on her lap and applied sun blocking lotion on the back. Linda asked Carol to take photographs. She was poised to have some naughty fun.

Linda’s groping was excessive. She did not know when to stop. She posed with Natalia while Carol snapped pictures. Linda Linz always took advantage on those who appeared weak, freak or streak. Her ego was big. The sky was the limit. However, Linda paid or gave one thousand dollars, in other words, bought her.

A nine o’clock sun graced her body. She stood right in the middle of the patch. Linda recorded on a camcorder.

Natalia caught a pair of eyes behind the pickets. Simultaneously, Carol entered the lawn with a stranger. Natalia dashed into the side yard behind a wall for cover. There wasn’t a stake to hide behind but to jump over the fence to the front yard. That inflatable pool got six inches of water. And the girl behind the fence laughed. Natalia stood face-up and patched to the wall.

“Good Morning!” she heard him greet.

“Good Morning! Jose, come and take a seat! What have you got this morning?” asked Linda Linz wrapping a towel. Carol flexed a folding chair for him to sit.

“I have good news today, Linzy,” expressed Jose, “Realtor called to say his client taken interest in another property. You can have Playa Del Rey.”

“Really!” Linda uttered, “Do you mean the whole lot?” Natalia listened while covering her stiffy with both hands.

“Forty-nine thousand square feet,” he continued, “That is 1.24 acres. 140 in width and 350 to water and a six-bedroom house.”

“Show me!” demanded Linda.

Jose spread a chart, “Same price and one month in the market.”

“I was thinking west of the highway!”

“This is east of the drive, north of the highway.”

“What about east, I mean west?”

“Plenty of options,” replied Jose, “several spaces in the west. Few on the east.”

“Waterfront?”

“Of course. Playa Del Rey has the best soil. That is important to consider. You saw the grass and the trees! West is a reclaimed bed and not very rich in the soil.”

“I’d need calm waters for the boat.”

“You have it. This is Packery Channel. Precisely what you want. This is the best bargain.”

“I’d like to take another look,” said Linda, “Let’s make it five this afternoon!”

“Good,” and Jose left the patio.

Everyone else entered the house. When the coast was clear, Natalia ran across the turf, grabbed the pickets and popped her head into the neighbour’s yard, “Hello!” her voice low and gruff.

The girl retreated halfway towards the house but she turned and yelled out, “I saw it!” She wore the widest mouth Natalia ever saw. This was the singer on stage in an all-white ensemble and dyed red hair.

Linda Linz actually wanted to buy a waterfront property in Padre Island, as Natalia overheard. It could be in a price range between five and ten hundred thousand dollars. Playa Del Rey enclave in North Padre Island lying south of Packery Channel could hold the most expensive real estate lots.

Natalia Phol returned to the motel and changed to Muay Thai outfit. She arrived before five and stopped on Archdale Drive in view of 906. Linda was home as she could tell since her white Corvette Roadster with a white and red Wisconsin license plate was parked in the front yard.

Shortly, Linda and Carol climbed the convertible and drove away. Natalia dismounted the bike and entered the cul-de-sac, clambered over the fence to the side yard. Reached the backdoor and forced entry into the house.

Linda was not a tidy person and the kitchen bit messy. Natalia had seen the inside. She climbed the stairs to the master bedroom. None of the curtains were drawn. Light entered through the square grid panels. Linda took the camcorder but she left the camera on the bed. Natalia pressed rewind and listened to the whistle of its motor. She popped the back cover and took the film assuming it was the cartridge used to take her photos.

Linda’s dressing table was big and fully stocked, not neat either. She stole a couple of perfume bottles. Of course, after mining fingerprints, she’d use them. Linda won’t even know they were missing. She also picked two pieces of dirty underwear from the closet. Of course, not to be used even after she could obtain a DNA someday. Her clothes hung on hangers all facing opposite direction from the way Natalia hung clothes. Natalia clicked photos of the room in its array.

She searched the closet. Most of her clothes were dumped inside. It was a mess. She rushed her search and found a pile of mail in a drawer. None was open and with some address in New York. She snapped some photos of random picks spread on the bed. She wasted a good forty minutes upstairs finding no lead.

She climbed down and entered the maid’s room with boxes stuffed on the linoleum floor. Switched on the light and dug into the boxes containing magazines of all kinds. To her astonishment, she pulled out a vintage ring binder album, with a deep purple hard cover, black kraft pages in good shape. Black and white photos ornately cut in the edges and mounted on photo corners. Some loose and some with captions on a side or bottom penned with a fading silver ink.

This was the album of Mia Crape that passed on to Sophia Crape-Martin to Sidney Martin to Savon Martin. Where’s the will? Signals sparked at 265 mph in the brain. First thought came to steal the album. Next, she’d better photograph every page. She had to find the will and some missing parts in the camera case like a link in a haystack to a needle in her possession, or the Databack.

Linda would have kept a pile of papers if she dug Crape-Myrtle like she did. She would probably know who killed Savon Martin.

Hang loose!

Natalia began to take photographs of every page of the album. After that, she sat on the floor to guess very carefully which photographs to steal. She picked a photo of Howard Crape who fled to Texas and married another woman. A picture of Mia Crape with two other girls on a stage doing a Charleston Dance. Some family photos of Mia and Howard with their children. Numerous photos of Sophia Crape as a young girl both in Charleston and in Baton Rouge.

Natalia wondered why was the album in Linda’s possession. Either she stole it or Savon Martin gave it for some security reason. She couldn’t find the will. Now that she forced an entry but couldn’t steal an album – the only lead to the ‘mystery’ as she called. How miserable!

Light was fading. Two hours passed. Natalia had to get out fast before Linda comes home. She returned all the things into the boxes and left 906 Maurus Circle.