Murder at Shady Oaks Senior Estates: The Demise of Justin Bieber

Murder at Shady Oaks Senior Estates:
                       The Demise of Justin Bieber

                                               By
                                      David McMullen-Sullivan

                                      GOODREADS EDITION

                                                *****

                                       PUBLISHED BY
                              David McMullen-Sullivan on Goodreads

                              Murder at Shady Oaks Senior Estates:
                                   The Demise of Justin Bieber
                          Copyright © 2013 by David McMullen-Sullivan

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     This short story is a work of fiction and, as even Justin is a caricature, any resemblance to
 persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are
                  productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

                                             First Edition

          The author would like to tell all teenager girls everywhere that this is just a joke

Murder at Shady Oaks Senior Estates:
                        The Demise of Justin Bieber

                                                 *****

     Shady Oaks Senior Estates was a tranquil, sleepy, retirement community tucked into a
beautiful wooded hillside in Santa Barbara. The community sat on fifteen acres and was
designed in the Spanish Mission style. Individual casitas dotted the property, and each residence
had white-washed walls and a terracotta tile roof. It was just so lovely.
     As quiet a community as it was, many of its elderly residents would happily claim to be a
rowdy bunch. A few of the men folk liked to race their golf carts up to their top speed of five
miles per hour. Many of the ladies did their part, having formed a song and dance troop that wore
their skirts just above the knee. Betty Carlton, the eldest in the park, thought that this was a
scandalous activity for good Christian women. But the most immoral event that went on in the
park, Betty often surmised, was how they would occasionally play “Dirty Dancing” on movie
night up at the club house. “No”, she would tell her husband when he would try to talk her into
walking up with him to see it. She had no intention of sitting there with all her friends and
neighbors while that “Poconos porn” was playing on the television. Although she did have to
admit, Milton was always in a better mood when he came back from watching that slut Jennifer
Grey doing the Tango all night.
     But, for the most part, Shady Oaks was an oasis of calm and harmony. Birdsong was always
heard drifting down from the tree canopies during the day. Often this winged chorus was
accompanied by piano music that emanated from the fifth house on the right. It was a small, two
bedroom casita that was shared by the Eastley sisters. As with most days, Esther Eastley was
even now sitting at her old baby grand. It stood next to the bay window in the center of the living
room. Besides the sheet music standing in the music rack, nothing else adorned the fine
instrument which gleamed with a shiny, black onyx veneer.
     Despite her arthritic hands, Esther was playing a beautiful, soft melody with skill and poise
as her sister, Clara, walked in from the kitchen. Clara came to stand directly behind her.
     “Esther,” she said, waiting for a response. “Esther,” she repeated with greater volume when
she did not turn around.
     Still not getting any response, Clara put her hand upon her sister’s shoulder. The playing
stopped, and Esther looked up and swiveled toward her sibling.
     “I’m sorry Clara. Were you speaking to me again?”
     “I just wanted to remember to tell you that that sweet little girl, you know the property
manager, called earlier today.
     “She did. What did she say?”
     “I didn’t hear everything she said from that cell phone of hers. But it was something about
sending a young man over.”
     “Oh! Is he going to fix the water heater? If I have to take another cold shower, I think I will
just cry sister.”
     “If he is, he must be a good plumber because she said something about him being very well
known.”
     “Oh, how wonderful! That is great news. Perhaps we’ll have hot water by this evening.”

“I hope so. Would you like some afternoon tea?”
      Esther smiled. The thought of hot water flowing from the pipes put her in a celebratory
mood.
      “Well, I think I just might. I’ll even play something upbeat to celebrate.”
      “I think you should,” Clara replied as she walked back into the kitchen.
      Esther turned back to the piano and began to sift through her sheet music in search of some
Cole Porter. Once found, she put the sheet music into place. Her fingers were just about to dance
across the keys when a knock came from the door.
      “Oh, the plumber,” she said with glee.
      She stood up, pushing the bench away from the piano and shuffled to the door. She opened
it, squinting to see who it was as the sunlight rushed in and splashed across the floor. Esther took
in the sight of someone who looked very young, wearing a tan shirt with epilates on the
shoulders, a black cap turned around backwards and holding a stack of magazines.
      “Hello ma’am,” the young person said.
      “Oh, are you the plumber?”
      “No ma’am. I’m not a plumber. I’m Justin Bieber.”
      “I see. Well, we were hoping you’d be the plumber, but we’ll be happy to buy some cookies
from you.”
      “What?”
      Clara’s voice came booming from the kitchen. “Esther, is that the plumber?”
      “No. But there’s a little girl at the door whose selling cookies,” she said while turning her
attention back upon their guest. “I just love those thin mints. Do you have any of those?”
      “I’m Justin Bieber. I’m not selling cookies.”
      “Who?”
      “Justin Bieber.”
      Clara approached from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “Who’s at the door,”
she asked.
      “A Justin Beaver,” Esther reported.
      “Bieber,” Justin said. “Justin Bieber. The international pop sensation.”
      Clara and Esther both looked at him, obviously clueless.
      “Didn’t that manager lady tell you I was coming?”
      “Mrs. Abbott? The facilities manager?” Clara asked.
      “I guess,” Justin responded. “Didn’t you see the news where I hit that mailbox with my
Mercedes?”
      Again came the clueless stare from the two women.
      “Well, no.” Esther answered. “We don’t really watch television.”
      “Cool. Cause I wasn’t drunk like they said I was.”
      Esther chuckled warmly. “Well of course not dear. You’re too young to drink.”
      “I am − and I don’t. But the judge ordered me to do my community service with you old
people at the nursing home today.”
      “It’s not a nursing home young man,” Clara corrected him. “It’s an assisted living center.”
      “But there are old people living here, right?”
      “Well, I’m eighty-six years young, and my sister Clara is seventy-eight. But yes, we live
here.”
      “Cool. So I’m spending a few hours with you today.”

“You are?” Esther couldn’t imagine what this all was about. She looked up from her short
stature at her younger sister for some kind of direction on the matter.
     Clara could see she would have to take the lead here. “Why don’t you come in young man.”
     “Thanks,” Justin said, stepping through the door and shoving the magazines he was holding
into Clara’s hands. “Here.”
     “What are these?”
     “Celebrity gossip magazines. They’ve got lots of stories about me. So you’ll really like
them.”
     “I’m sure I will,” Clara said in an uncertain tone.
     Justin looked around at the small space. His eyes almost immediately stopped on the piano
across the room.
     “You ladies into music?”
     “Esther is. She was a piano teacher most of her life. She’s practically a virtuoso.”
     Esther, as humble as she was, blushed.
     “I wouldn’t say that.”
     “So you like – what do you old people say, tickle the ivy?”
     “Something like that dear.”
     Without waiting for a proper invitation, Justin walked right over and sat down at the piano.
He took his cell phone out of his right front pocket, putting it down on top of the piano and
started hitting the keys randomly. Both Esther and Clara were taken aback by this lack of
decorum, but they quickly recovered. The piano being her domain, Esther walked over and sat
down beside him while Clara looked over the magazines.
     “Do you play?”
     “Not really. There are these dudes that play everything for me.” He began to sing, “Baby.
Baby. Baby.” He hit some more keys in no particular arrangement. “Baby. Baby. Baby.”
     “Are there anymore words to that song?”
     “Yea. But I forget ‘em. Most of the time, these other dudes play a recording, and I move my
lips and imagine I’m shooting cheese wiz into my mouth.”
     “That doesn’t help to develop your talent.”
     Justin smiled. “I don’t have to have any. There are these – like − marketing dudes, and they
make me look good.”
     “Oh. Well that’s nice dear.”
     Justin went back to singing with an almost dry and scratchy refrain. “Baby. Baby. Baby.”
     Esther covered her ears with hers hands. Her musical sensibilities were almost in shock.
     “Oh my. Are you sure you’re not off key dear?”
     “I don’t know what that is. Baby. Baby. Baby.”
     Esther looked over at her sister to implore her for help.
     “Clara, please do something.”
     Clara was quick to act. “Would you like something to drink young man? We were just about
to have a nice cup of rose hip tea.”
     “I’ll take a red bull if you have one.”
     “I don’t think we have that, but we do have Darjeeling.”
     “Clara, there’s some pop in the back of the refrigerator.”
     “Oh yes. I forgot. I’ll get him a glass.”
     With that she walked off to the kitchen to fetch the beverage.

“Thanks,” Justin replied as she walked away. Again, he turned his attention to the piano,
singing “Baby” over and over again. Esther cringed.
      “Do you know any Vivaldi or Beethoven?”
      “Never heard of those dudes. Baby. Baby. Baby.”
      “They’re very famous composers.”
      “So they wrote songs and stuff?”
      “Yes.”
      “Never heard of them. Baby. Baby. Baby.”
      Her hands still covering her ears. Esther shouted in desperation.
      “Clara! Hurry with the dear boy’s pop!”
      As if on cue, Clara came in, bounding the distance from the kitchen to the piano. In her hand
she held a fizzy soda in a tall glass. She held it out to Justin.
      “Here. Rest your voice and have a drink of this.”
      “Thanks.”
      Justin took the glass and took a big, audible gulp.
      “Is that Dr. Pepper?”
      “Root beer.”
      “Sassafras, as we used to say.”
      “It’s good.”
      He took another big gulp and let out a bellowing burp. He put the glass right down on the
piano. Esther’s eyes almost burst out of their sockets in panic.
      “Oh! No dear! Not without a coaster!”
      Justin seemed oblivious as his attention again returned to the piano. Esther stood up
immediately and brought a coaster over from the coffee table and put it under the glass. She left
Justin to continue singing the same three words and approached Clara who was just starting to
flip through some of the gossip magazines again.
      “Clara, make him stop. I can’t stand it much longer.”
      “Just let him wear himself out. I’m sure he’ll stop soon.”
      Esther gave a whimper of distress and moved to the far side of the room. She opened a
closet and began rummaging through its contents while Justin sat with his head in the keys and
Clara had hers in the magazines. Neither one looked up as Esther shuffled back, carrying a rope.
      With a cry that could have come out of the mouth of the fiercest Comanche warrior, she
threw the rope over Justin’s head and jerked it back tight around his neck. Sudden panic gripped
his facial expression. He let out a gurgle and a choking sound. He tried to get his thin little
fingers underneath the rope to pull it off his neck. But the boy child’s strength was no match for
Esther’s arthritic knuckles and wiry forearms that had been strengthened by the crocheting of an
ungodly number of Christmas sweaters, often with a center design of Santa Claus drinking hot
cocoa. Justin tried to stand but only stumbled backwards. Esther only tightened her grip as he
swung around and fell face down on the floor.
      The whole thing had taken only seconds, but for Clara it was all in slow motion. Stunned by
what she was seeing, she found she couldn’t move. She could only manage to cry out, “Esther,
stop it! Stop it!”
      But Esther held tight as he nearly gasped his last and white, foamy bubbles poured from his
mouth like some kind of mucosal car wash. “I can’t stand it anymore! It’s like a nightmare − but
with bangs!” she screeched.

Finally he went limp, and Esther released her grip on the rope. The pattern of it fibrous
twists were sunken into her red palms.
     “Esther, are you all right?”
     With a dazed tone she said, “Oh sister. I don’t know what came over me. I think I lost my
mind for a moment.”
     “Maybe you got Bieber Fever.”
     “What’s that?”
     “I don’t know. But according to those magazines, teenage girls are coming down with it all
the time.”
     “Dreadful. Just dreadful.”
     Clara steadied Esther as she swayed and appeared to be a bit dizzy.
     “Is he dead?” Esther asked.
     “I believe so.”
     “Oh sister. I don’t know my own strength. I strangled him so hard he even foamed at the
mouth.”
     “Uhhh, I don’t think that’s it.”
     “What else would make him do that?”
     “The rat poison I put in his root beer.”
     “You poisoned him?”
     “I must have gotten Bieber Fever too.”
     “Ooh. It’s communicable. What a terrible, terrible disease. We’ll be quarantined.”
     “Quarantined! Esther, we’ve just murdered Justin Beaver. We’ll be jailed.”
     A pause came over their discussion. Almost in unison, they both turned their heads to look
at the body sprawled across the living room rug.
     With complete calm Esther said, “I wonder which one of us killed him?”
     “I don’t know.”
     Justin’s cell phone, that had been sitting on top of the piano the whole time, came to life.
Even the ringtone that played loudly was, “Baby. Baby. Baby.”
     The two women jumped.
     “It’s the police!”
     “It can’t be. How would they know about it this soon.”
     Unsure, Esther replied, “Should we answer it?”
     “Do you think we should?”
     “Oh sister! You do it! I don’t think my heart can stand anymore excitement.”
     As if reaching for a snake ready to strike, Clara slowly stepped over and picked up the
phone to answer it.
     “Hello.”
     Esther could hear the squawking coming across the line from the caller, but she couldn’t
make out what was said. Clara stood there, listening.
     “Justin? No he’s not here right now.” she said, pausing. “He’s in the shower.”
     Esther stepped closer to her and slapped her arm. With a look of disbelief in her eyes, lips
mouthed the words “In the shower.”
     Clara put her hand over the mouth piece. “He wants to talk to him. I panicked.”
     Clara removed her hand and resumed listening.
     “You do?” she replied, pausing again. “You are? Well alright then. Goodbye”
     She ended the call and put the phone back on the piano.

“Who was it?”
    “It was his manager. He says he has to cut Justin’s visit short today, and that they have to get
back to the studio to ‘lay down some tracks’.”
    Tears started to well up in Esther’s eyes as she began to realize the fate that awaited them.
Her voice quivered, “Oh sister. That man is going to come here and find this young man dead.”
    Clara began to see it all too. “We’re going to the big house.”
    “I can accept that. What we did was a despicable act. I only hope and pray that someday
God can forgive us.”
    “We’ll throw ourselves on the mercy of the court.”
    For a moment, Clara’s suggestion seemed plausible. Crazed with the thought, she went with
it.
    “Yes. We’ll beg for forgiveness. We know that what we did was wrong, and we’ll promise
never to do it again. Perhaps they’ll let us off with a warning.”
    “Do you think?”
    “Ooh.” The balloon in her mind suddenly popped. “But how could they,” Esther said sadly.
    Despondent, Clara replied, “Maybe they’ll let us share the same cell.”
    “Oh sister. I just don’t know what will become of us.”
    A moan came from the floor. Justin’s legs jerked, and he struggled to move.
    “He’s alive!” Clara proclaimed. “We didn’t kill him after all! Oh, thank the lord.”
    “Sister, our prayers have been answered.”
    As confused as he was, it took both women to get him to a sitting position.
    “I must not have put enough rat poison in his drink.”
    “I must not have strangled him hard enough.”
    Weakly, Justin said, “What – what happened?”
    Always the quick thinker of the two, Clara replied, “You had a nasty fall dear.”
    “Yes,” Esther added. “You tripped on the rug. You poor, poor dear.”
    Justin reached for his neck.
    “Why does my throat hurt?”
    “Rug burn dear”
    Esther gave her sister a sly look that seemed to say how clever she was.
    “Bless you. You fell right onto the Persian.”
    “I have a terrible taste in my mouth.”
    “That would be the cat litter.”
    “Cat litter?”
    “Well, you know how old ladies always have cats.”
    “Oh yeah. That’s true. I sure hope it hasn’t affected my voice any.”
    Justin cleared his throat, attempting to sing. Scratchy at first, his vocals picked up volume.
“Baby. Baby. Baby.”
    Esther’s hands flung to her ears. She grimaced and whimpered.
    “Oh! Sister, make him stop.”
    “I don’t know what can be done.”
    Stronger, it came again. “Baby. Baby. Baby.”
    Esther bit her lip, trying to think of what to do. “Sister?”
    “Yes.”
    “They’re sure to have hot water in prison.”
    “Oh? Well, in that case, I’ll go get the rat poison.”

Clara walked back to the kitchen as Esther took up the rope and began to strangle Justin
again, pulling tighter then she had before.

                                             THE END