Route 66 Mysteries #1: Love and Death in Catoosa
Since childhood, I have been captivated by the eclectic stops and memorabilia along Route 66, with each unique location telling its own story of Americana. While I haven't traversed the entire length of this iconic road, I've explored over half of its significant sites, each visit deepening my appreciation for the quirky charm and historical significance of these landmarks. This fascination sparked the idea for a series of mystery books, where each installment unfolds at various Route 66 stops, weaving together different characters and an array of mysteries—from murder to theft, arson, and kidnapping. Designed to be fast-paced and engaging, these stories are perfect for a quick escape, whether on a plane, train, or lounging at the beach. The first book is set at an intriguing little spot just on the outskirts of Tulsa, Oklahoma, a place that holds fond memories from our time living there. I hope you enjoy this little snippet from what promises to be an adventurous journey through the heart of America.
The red and blue lights from the cruisers flickered across the rippling water, giving the giant Blue Whale an eerie glow. Aaron Jackson stepped out of his unmarked car, his boots sinking slightly into the damp earth. The air smelled of rain and algae, thick with the decay of fallen leaves and something else—something wrong.
“Detective Jackson?" A uniformed officer, young and wide-eyed, approached. His name tag read “Miller."
Aaron nodded. “What do we have?"
Miller swallowed hard. “Victim's in the mouth of the whale. Female. Naked. Looks like she drowned, but…" He hesitated, eyes flicking toward the hulking concrete structure looming over the dark water.
“But what?" Aaron asked, already walking.
Miller fell into step beside him. “Her eyes are missing. And there’s… you should just see for yourself."
A cluster of CSU techs and crime scene photographers stood on the wooden dock, their voices hushed. The beams from their flashlights sliced through the gloom, illuminating the mouth of the whale where the victim lay sprawled. Her skin was pale, marred with streaks of dirt and water. Blonde hair, slick and tangled, clung to her face. But it was her chest that held Aaron’s attention.
Pinned just above her sternum with a delicate pearl-headed pin was an old postcard. A red heart, smeared in lipstick, encircled the words scrawled in careful cursive:
My dearest love, the days are long without you. But I know we will be together again, if only in our dreams.
Aaron exhaled sharply. “Jesus."
“Postmark’s from 1954," Miller murmured. “CSU’s already bagged a few prints from it, but it’s fragile as hell. Who the hell does something like this?"
Aaron crouched down, studying the victim’s face—or what was left of it. The sockets were hollow, gaping voids where her eyes should have been. No blood, no signs of struggle. It was almost surgical.
“The ME will tell us more, but this wasn’t done postmortem," he muttered. "Somebody took their time."
He stood, scanning the scene, his gaze settling on the black water lapping at the wooden beams beneath them. No footprints. No signs of a struggle. It was as if she had simply appeared in the mouth of the whale.
“We got an ID on her?" he asked.
Miller shook his head. “Nothing yet. No clothes, no purse, nothing. CSU's combing the area, but whoever did this cleaned up."
Aaron’s jaw tightened. He’d seen bad cases before. Hell, Tulsa wasn’t exactly known for its pristine reputation when it came to crime. But this? This was something different.
“CSU able to pull the names and addresses off the postcard?”
“Not yet, but it’s on their list to try to do. You don’t think that whoever did this could be one of the people from the postcard? They’d be…Hell they’d be well into their 90s today.”
Aaron felt a chill creep up his spine. His eyes flicked back to the postcard, that carefully drawn heart, the sentiment scrawled in ink decades ago.
A message meant for someone long dead… or for him.
He exhaled, “No, Miller, I don’t think a 90 year old did this, but still might provide a clue as to who did.”
Whoever left the girl in the whale’s mouth wasn’t done yet.
The drizzle that had started earlier in the evening turned to a slow, steady rain. It drummed against the curved back of the Blue Whale, trickled down its weathered paint, and pattered onto the dock. The crime scene unit worked in grim silence, collecting fibers, dusting for prints, cataloging every detail. None of it would bring the girl back, but maybe—just maybe—it would help find the person who did this.
His phone buzzed. He pulled it from his coat pocket, glancing at the screen. A message from an unknown number.
Do you believe in love, Detective?
Aaron stepped away from the body, scanning the darkness beyond the parking lot. Thick trees lined the perimeter, their branches heavy with water. A crime scene perimeter had been set up, but that didn't mean much. If the killer had wanted to watch, they could be standing just beyond the tree line right now, hidden in the shadows.
