Murder at Breakfast (4 page)

“Oh,
hi, Cy. Back so soon. Did you get a confession?”

“Not
only haven’t I gotten a confession, George, but I don’t even know if anyone was
murdered. I’m waiting on Frank to get back with me, and it may be a day or two.
In the meantime, some of us need to keep busy.”

“Too
bad, Cy. It looks like you won’t be able to go over to Lou’s house to Wii.
We’ve been busy, too. Some of us were laughing so hard we’ve just barely
recovered. I thought a couple of the guys weren’t going to make it. Would you
like to see the part where you asked your lady friends to give you CPR, after
you finished your exercise? Is that how you get women to kiss you, Cy?”

ext-door
neighbor your phone number, and tell her you’re single.”

“I’ve
heard about her. She and that dog really have the hots for you, don’t they? Has
she proposed yet?”

“Oh,
she’s proposed many things.”

“I
haven’t let her get close enough, but that rat of hers did lick me.”

“You
mean her white French poodle?”

“That’s
the one.”

“That
means that she approves of you, Cy. The dog loves you. Maybe you’d better check
with her to see if she has a Wii.”

“Oh,
she’s a dog, okay. Like I said, I’ll be glad to pass your name on to her.”

I’d
had enough of George’s talk about Lou’s dumb exercise board. I looked at my
watch, decided we had enough time to question Wally Gentry before we called it
a night. We would save the others for the next day.

+++

After
consulting my map and pulling Lou away from our “friends,” we walked down the
hall and knocked on another door. The man who answered looked to be about
forty. His unruly hair told me that he’d been lying down.

“Mr.
Gentry, or would you rather I call you Wally.”

“Wally’s
fine. Who are you, and why are you here?”

I
introduced myself and Lou, told the maintenance man why we were there.
Evidently, he hadn't heard about Mrs. Higgins’s death. Margaret Draper must
have kept her word. I talked to Wally for a few minutes. He told me about his
day. He had spent some time outdoors, taking care of the flowers. The only
times he had been inside were when he helped the maids move some of the
furniture in the sitting room and the library so they could shampoo the carpet
in both places, and when he ate lunch. Normally, he and the cook ate lunch
outdoors, if the weather was nice, but it was a warm June day and both opted to
eat lunch in the air-conditioned dining room. They were the only two who did. 
Wally had spent some of his morning taking care of the flower beds. The only
thing he noticed that was out of the ordinary was that the ladder that allowed
him to wash the outside of the third-floor windows had been moved from its
storage area and was propped up to Russell Cochran’s window. Wally wasn’t sure
how long it had been there. Sometimes Russell used it to climb down from his
apartment when he visited Katherine. Wally got a kick out of the older couple’s
infatuations with one another. He was sorry there would be no more.

“Wally,
you said you ate lunch with Mrs. Carpenter. Do you remember if you ate off a
plate or out of a Styrofoam container?”

“Since
we ate indoors today, we each had a tray and a plate. Company policy says that
if we don’t eat in the dining room, we’re to use a Styrofoam container. But
today Martha and I were the only two who had a plate and a tray.”

“But
those who pay to live here can have trays in their apartments?”

“That’s
right, as long as Martha sends them up in the dumbwaiters.”

+++

I
looked at my watch. They would be locking the doors soon. Not that locked doors
would keep me from questioning the employees and residents at Parkway Arms, but
I didn’t want to get too involved too soon. To Frank it looked like someone had
poisoned the woman’s lunch, but Frank was quick to tell us what we already
knew. Things aren't always what they appear to be.

As
we returned to Parkway Arms' common area I noticed that George had left. After
consulting with one of the officers he left behind, I found out that George had
left two men to see that no one entered or exited the premises. One officer
walked the grounds. The other took up residence on the comfortable couch within
sight of the front door. In two hours they would change places. In four hours,
another duo would replace them. I planned to keep them there only until I had
questioned everyone in the building. True, there might be a murderer nearby,
but I didn’t expect him or her to flee.

+++

Lou
and I were silent as I drove the first part of the way to Lou’s apartment.
After both of us had a few moments to reflect upon what we had learned so far,
I turned to Lou.

“So,
what do you think, Lou?”

“Well,
it looks open and shut. If her lunch poisoned her, it looks like the cook is
our murderer.”

“So,
what do you think?”

“I
think it’s time we had an easy case, but something tells me this isn’t it.
Maybe the giant climbed down the ladder into Jack’s apartment before Jack could
cut down the beanstalk. Maybe someone sneaked into the kitchen as soon as the
cook walked out to the dining room. Maybe the Welcome Wagon was there to poison
Mrs. Higgins as soon as her lunch arrived or had pulled her lunch back down as
soon as the cook walked away, and sprinkled some arsenic on it, then sent it
back up.”

“I
agree.”

“You
agree?”

“Yeah,
I think we won’t know until Frank tells us more.”

+++

I
walked into my house, noticed my new computer setting there, and was struck
blind by a brilliant idea. Well, maybe not blind, and not really a brilliant
idea, but an idea nevertheless. I still had the paper where Louie wrote out
what I needed to do to get online, but it was so simple I hardly had to refer
to it anymore. I clicked on “My Favorites,” then clicked on Google and began to
type. I keyed in the letters Lt. Dekker and then hit “enter.” I was appalled by
what I saw. Someone had named a movie character after me. I even got to see a
film clip from the movie,
Last Action Hero.
At least the man who played
Lt. Dekker looked and acted nothing like me. I returned to the Google search,
deleted “Lt.” and inserted “Cy.” I was relieved to find out I was the only Cy
Dekker in existence, at least the only one anyone at Google knew about. At
least the clown in the movie had no first name, or a different first name.

I
wiped out any reference to myself and typed in Sgt. Murdock. I was disappointed
no nincompoop had ever played a character named Sgt. Murdock in a movie or on
TV. As I did when I Googled myself, I replaced Sgt. with Lou, and died laughing
at what I found. There actually is a Lou Murdock out in the real world, and the
funny thing is he’s a tax collector in Wichita Falls, Texas. I must remember to
tell Lou about his other self, but not right away. I must wait until after I
tell Lou that I have a computer. He will be the first one I will tell. Maybe
some day, after we solve Mrs. Higgins’s murder, I will drive by the hospital,
park just outside the emergency room entrance, and tell Lou about my most
recent purchase. That way, just in case he keels over after laughing
hysterically and then realizes that I’m telling the truth, doctors and nurses
would be standing by so that they could revive him.

Before
I shut off the computer and went to bed, I decided to Google one more person.
There was no reference to Heloise Humphert. I always knew that
that
woman was a product of the Witness Relocation Program. If I only knew who
wanted her dead, I could alert them, and then the authorities, so they could
whisk her away and I would get a new neighbor.

As
I shut off the computer and turned away, I hit my knee on the computer desk. I
forgot that God hears my innermost thoughts and was getting even with me. I wish
I knew if He was getting even because I wanted to get rid of my neighbor, or
because I was wishing her on someone else. I wasn’t really wishing the creature
on anyone else. I would be content if she was out in the wilderness with bears
and mountain lions. I wonder which they would go for first, the ugly one, or
that little rat she keeps on a leash? I limped to the bedroom before God caused
me to trip over the rug and land on my protrusion. Maybe I could get to sleep
without thinking of her. Maybe.

I
awakened the next morning, realized that it was Saturday, and then remembered
that it was a working Saturday. Then I realized something worse. I’d worked
quite a bit of the previous night on our latest murder case and never once
reached into my pocket to pluck a morsel of chocolate from my stash of Hershey
Almond candy bars I carried there. No wonder I hadn’t solved the case. I lay in
the bed, dumbfounded. How could I have been so negligent? Did that mean that
Lou had refrained from plopping a slew of M&Ms down the hatch? And then I
remembered. I wasn’t working with the same Lou I used to work with. The Lou I
knew, the one I grew up with, went to school with, served on the police
department with, had been kidnapped and replaced with one of the Pod People. My
Lou would never have considered yogurt to be one of the food groups. There have
been disagreements among the masses as to how many food groups there are. Some
people are specific enough to consider chocolate a food group, while others go
with the grander scale of desserts, I waiver back and forth between the two. On
most days I consider chocolate a necessary ingredient of the dessert food
group, but I wouldn’t consider chocolate yogurt if there were such a thing. Nor
chocolate tofu. Nor chocolate beets. Now, chocolate peanut butter wouldn’t be
bad. I think I could handle a chocolate peanut butter and banana sandwich. Who
knows? Maybe some day I will melt a Hershey  bar  and  put  it  on  top of a
glob of peanut butter. On white bread. Wheat is too healthy. Or should I melt a
couple of Reese’s Cups instead?

All
that salivating about food caused me to drool on my pillow. I followed the
twelve step pattern designed to extricate myself from my bed, then stumbled to
the bathroom, hoping that my eyes wouldn't yet allow me to see what I looked
like. I used the facilities and stumbled back to the bedroom to decide upon my
clothing ensemble for the day. It was almost the mirror image of what I wore
the day before, only a cleaner version. Once my drawers were seized from my
dresser, I ambled to the shower to wake up so that I would be cognizant of the
daily devotional I would read once I dressed, and the prayer I would lift up to
God thanking Him ahead of time for the feast I would devour at the Blue Moon,
and the healing he would deliver to Lou’s stricken body. 

+++

I
must not have prayed enough before I opened my back door as I left to pick Lou
up on our way to the Blue Moon. I had barely stepped out the house and locked
the door when I turned to find a white rat about to jump up and down on my
ensemble. I didn’t want doggie drool on my khakis. I had lived next door to the
Wicked Witch of the West long enough to know that if the varmint is on the
premises the one capable of breaking any mirror was lurking nearby. Sometimes I
hate it when I’m right.

“Oh,
Cyrus, my sweet. What better way to start your day than having Twinkle Toes
greet you as you depart.”

“Oh,
I don’t know. Seeing a ‘For Sale’ sign in your yard would’ve done more for me.”

“Oh,
Cyrus, you sly devil. You’re wanting me to move in with you. I’m game when you
are.”

“You
don’t know how good that makes me feel, Miss Humphert. Just knowing you’re game
makes me want to go downtown and get a hunting license.”

“You
can hunt me anytime you want, Sugar Lips.”

I
have always been told that things look better when you look on the bright side.
The only bright side I could see to this encounter was that Heloise Humphert’s
equally ugly sister, Hortense, had gone back home, or had had her parole
revoked. I must inquire to see how much it would cost to have quicksand
installed between my property and Miss Humphert’s.

“Miss
Humphert, I must be going. Maybe, if I’m lucky, I’ll see you again in a couple
of decades.”

“Oh,
Cyrus, I’ll camp out right here until you get back. Do you have any idea when
that will be?”

I
quoted her a date of February 30, and then made a note to check with the
hardware store to see what might get rid of the stench in case she camped out
on my porch. Possibly lye, or is it lime? Or would it take dynamite?

+++

“Ray
Nitschke.”

“Do
what?” My partner in crime had just sat down in Lightning and buckled up, and
already he was speaking in tongues.

“Ray
Nitschke.”

“Are
you sneezing or suggesting that we try a sushi bar for lunch today?”

“Nitschke
isn’t Japanese. It’s German. And Ray Nitschke is a person.”

“What
person?”

“The
man who lives on the third floor at Parkway Arms.”

“So
he’s our murderer? No, wait a minute. The guy who lives on the third floor of
Parkway Arms has a different name. Let me see. Now, I’ve got it. It’s Russell
Cochran. So, who’s this Ray Nitschke?”

“I
don’t know who Ray Nitschke is, but that’s our clue for the day.”

“And
you got me all worked up. I thought we were going to have an easy case for a
change. I was all ready to go home and settle down with one of Carolyn Hart’s
wonderful mysteries, and now you tell me we haven’t solved the case yet.”

I
managed to forget about Ray Nitschke, my next-door neighbor, and all the rest
of the world. Things didn’t take a turn for the worse until Lou and I arrived
at the Blue Moon. I smiled as we walked in and saw Rosie. I knew Rosie for what
she really was, the woman who saw that I got scrumptious food each day. She saw
me as one of the two men who saw to it that she kept her job. Well, I used to be
one of them. Lately I’ve been the only one.

I
hoisted myself up onto the stool. Two stools over, Lou did the same.

“So,
how’s Dick Tracy One-And-A-Half?” Rosie asked.

Rosie
used to call us Dick Tracy Squared, but then that was before Lou became anemic.

“One
of us is doing fine. The other could still use your prayers, and the food he
used to eat,” I replied. Lou merely smiled at my remark.

“I’ll
order first. I wouldn’t want to hear his order and lose my appetite. I’ll take
bacon, sausage patties, scrambled eggs with cheese, and pancakes with pecans
and lots of syrup, and an extra large glass of orange juice, and some water to
wash everything down.”

“And
you, my malnutritious one?”

“I’ll
take a veggie omelet made with egg whites, two slices of turkey bacon, and
apple juice.”

I
made a note that when I checked at the hardware store to find fumigation
chemicals to clean away any existence of my neighbor from my property I would
also check to see if they had blinders for people. I was afraid I’d cast an eye
in my partner’s direction and lose my breakfast.  

Our
food arrived. I smacked my lips a few times, did the best I could to see that
no particle of food remained on my plate, and then ordered dessert.  The 
friend I used to have and I used to order dessert after breakfast, knowing that
more than likely, except for the candy we kept on our person, we wouldn't have
anything else to eat before lunch, which was some three or four hours away.

Both
Lou and I ordered fruit for dessert. His was in a bowl, all by itself. Mine was
in two pieces of pie, blueberry and peach. I believe in rotating my food
groups, so even though my favorite types of pies are pecan, chocolate cream,
and coconut cream, I sometimes step outside my comfort zone and order another
kind.

+++

Before
we exited the Blue Moon, I allowed a sufficient time for my food to settle and
Lou’s to do whatever it does. I was ready to tackle our latest murder
investigation. I drove back to the murder scene. Well, at least what we figured
was a murder scene. I pulled into Parkway Arms parking lot and chose one of the
spots reserved for visitors. Before I tackled any of our potential suspects,
Lou and I walked the grounds. Well, I didn’t plan to do any more walking than
absolutely necessary, but I did want to view the building and grounds from all
directions. We were still trying to discern from which direction the murderer
came, if he or she came at all.

The
parking area was located on the side of the building closest to the residential
apartments. That was the left side of the building if you look from the street,
so we began there, walked around back. I noticed an enormous oak tree with an
iron bench wrapped completely around it. From there anyone could see quite a
bit of the grounds. We walked back there. I took a seat. Lou followed. The
lower branches were high enough off the ground that it gave us a view of the
entire backside of the apartment building, even though the building spread out
for quite a distance. I was amazed that only eight people paid to stay in that
enormous building, which was as large as the high school Lou and I attended.

The
rear of the first floor jutted out and provided a relatively flat roof. This
meant that anyone could open one of the second floor windows and step out onto
the roof. One of those second floor windows was the unlocked window in the
victim’s apartment. I spotted the ladder that Wally Gentry had told me about.
It led from one of the windows of a third floor apartment to the roof below.
Anyone who wasn't feeble and didn’t have a fear of heights could navigate that
ladder with no problem. If it became necessary for us to use it as an
experiment I would let Lou give it a try. After all, by now he had lost enough
weight that no weight limits would restrict him. Sitting there taking in the
scope of things, my guess was that no one could come down the ladder and enter
an apartment without someone sitting under the oak tree noticing him or her. Of
course, I doubted if someone was posted under the oak at all times. Certainly
no one was sitting there when Lou and I arrived. I also saw that it was quite a
drop from the roof that jutted out from the second floor to the ground. I
couldn’t see too many people attempting that leap. Besides, if they tried it at
meal time they would be seen. The roof didn’t go all the way to the far end of
the building, and there was nothing but windows there in the dining room.
Anyone in the dining room could have seen a leaping lunatic.

I
heard a noise, looked up to see Martha the cook exiting a back door with a
container of food. She looked up, saw us, acted like she forgot something, then
turned and headed back inside. I guessed that she would check for visitors
before exiting again.

After
we had taken in the large area that made up the backyard, I stumbled to my feet
and plodded toward the far side, the right side of the building. As we drew
closer, I spotted a slew of trees that prevented us from proceeding without a
hatchet. We turned and walked around the building on the parking lot side.
After circumnavigating the premises, I was surprised to find  there  were 
only  two  doors  that  led  into  and out of the building, one in the front
and one in the back near the dining room.

While
we were making our rounds we encountered one of Hilldale’s finest, the daytime
officer that George had assigned to guard the stockade. I asked him who Ray
Nitschke is or was. He had no idea. Maybe God is the only one who knows this
guy. We spoke to the officer who knew no more than I did, then walked to the
front door, opened it, and encountered another of the department’s men. We knew
both men, but not well. Lou and I avoid headquarters if at all possible, and we
seldom see any of the other men, unless we need them to help in some way with a
murder investigation.

“Do
you know who Ray Nitschke is or was?”

“Of
course. He was one of the greats.”

“Was
he a cop?”

“No,
middle linebacker for the Green Bay Packers. You never heard of Nitschke?”

“Can’t
say that I have?”

“What
about Dick Butkus?”

“Did
he play for the Packers, too?”

“No,
Bears.”

“Don’t
any of those football players have common names, like Bruce Smith?”

“Bruce
Smith played for the Bills, but he wasn’t a middle linebacker. You didn’t play
football did you, Lieutenant?”

“No,
can’t say that I did.”

“Too
bad. You have the body for it. You could’ve been a good defensive lineman, but
probably too short to make it in the pros.”

I
was glad that someone noticed my wonderful physique. I realized he didn’t make
a similar comment about Lou. Poor Lou. He had a great body, and the Wii took it
all away from him.

I
decided to end all this enlightenment and sent Lou to let Miss Draper know that
we were back, and to secure a key to Mrs. Higgins’ apartment. I had a brief
lapse of intelligence, and for some reason unbeknownst to myself, I opted to
climb the stairs to the second floor. I don’t know why. I merely knew that they
were closer to the victim’s apartment than the elevator was. As I had found out
many times before, faulty reasoning often leads to consequences. Or should I
chalk this too up to the unsavory thoughts I had of my next door neighbor.
Maybe I should invite her to church one Sunday and find her a seat up near the
front. That way I would have done something nice for her, and still she would
be far enough away from where Lou and I sit that we wouldn’t see her. I still
wasn’t convinced that God would bless me for this. He would expect me to ask
her to sit with Lou and me, and I knew if I did she would caress my hand as I
passed the collection plate. And no telling what she would do during the
pastor’s prayer. Did I trust God enough to believe He would ship her to Outer
Slobovia if she ran her fingers through my hair during church?