Murder at the Art & Craft Fair (20 page)

Chapter
Thirty-
Six

As is many times the case when I’m really tired, I had
a nightmare that night. Any dream that has my next-door neighbor in it is a
nightmare, whether I have it at night or during the day, whether I’m asleep or
awake. In my most recent nightmare, I found myself on a country road. Lightning
had broken down and I was soaked after being caught in a downpour. So far, my
dream matched my reality of a few days earlier. But soon, the two would part
ways. In my nightmare, I looked up. The moon cast shadows on the tombstones
that towered over me on both sides of the road. Things were bad until some of
those shadows started moving. A pack of wolves were about to have me for
dinner. I started to run, when, off in the distance, headlights burst through
the gloom of the night. Afraid of the bright lights, the wolves slunk back
behind the tombstones. I was about to be rescued. Seconds later, the car grew
abreast of me and stopped. I looked at the two people inside, and immediately
began to seek out the wolves. But a claw reached out from inside the car and
corralled me by the collar. My next-door neighbor held me until she could open
the car door and get out. The young boy, who sat beside her, who carried the
hammer and nails, jumped out and ran around the car toward me. He started
hitting my feet with his hammer until I could feel nothing but pain. And then
he hit me on the knee. My knee jerked, but I couldn’t get away. The boy and my
next-door neighbor spotted an outhouse nearby, and they began to drag me toward
that outhouse. They took me and shoved me inside that smelly edifice. The boy
started to hammer the door shut, but my next-door neighbor shouted at him to
wait. Then, she climbed inside with me, and hollered, “Now.” I felt myself
clawing at the door, trying to get out, but to no avail. It was then that I
woke up, sweating, but still clawing at the door. After I was awake enough to
think clearly, I looked around, and saw that my next-door neighbor was not
around. Then, I turned the doorknob and stepped out of the closet, and once I
could breathe normally again, I fell back into bed. If I was going to have
nightmares like that, I planned to check with the doc to see how I could get
insomnia.

+++

The next morning I woke up earlier than I expected and
after getting my blood circulating, I stepped up onto the Wii board. I smiled
as it informed me that I’d lost quite a bit of weight. Then I put my second
foot on the board and reality sank in. I unmuted it after I was sure it had
quit calling me names like Cupcake Belly and Cheesecake Butt, or whatever it
was calling me. For the next few minutes I kept gyrating, even after my body
hollered for me to stop. I hollered things like, “Take that, cupcake,” and
“You, too, cheesecake,” and other tidbits that made no sense at all. I was sure
it was all a reaction to my nightmare, and my battle with the Wii troll.

I collapsed onto my recliner, until my coronary had
passed, then stumbled off to the bathroom. I showered and spent a few minutes
with God, but it was still a little early to call Lou, so I reached over and
picked up the latest issue of the AARP magazine, which had come the day before,
while we were gone. I glanced at the cover and was fascinated by an article
called
Age-Proof Your Brain.
Now, people would line up to say it was a
little late for me, but I flipped the magazine open to page 52, and glimpsed at
the article. The article said pretty much what I expected it to say, like do
aerobic, strength, and balance exercises, which I was already doing, and eat
plenty of fish, vegetables, fruits, and nuts, which I had recently begun to do.
It also talked about making friends and getting together with them. Lou and I
had been friends for a long time, but now I had a new friend in Jennifer. I
wanted to get together with her as much as possible. When I got to number six,
I picked up a pen to take notes. Six was called Spice It Up, and it named
several spices to include in my food; black pepper, cinnamon, oregano, basil,
parsley, ginger, and vanilla. All of them were said to help those leetle gray
cells, as Hercule Poirot called them. I wondered if vanilla ice cream counted
as vanilla. I got so absorbed in reading the article that I lost track of time
until Lou called to see where I was. It was 9:40. We could still make it if I
got my rumboogie in gear and headed out the door. Regardless, I doubted if the
girls would lock the door on us if we were a little late. My mind drifted back
to the article. I wondered if I should take some black pepper, cinnamon,
oregano, basil, parsley, ginger, and vanilla to sprinkle on my cupcakes. I
quickly filed that away to use the next time we made a trip to Danville.

Even though Lou said we were in danger of being a
little late, he still had time to play mind games when he called. He pretended
that I was so late that he hadn’t waited on me, but had gone to Thelma Lou’s on
his own.

“Oh, weren’t you there, Cy? Boy those cupcakes, that
pecan pie, and that turtle cheesecake were delicious. But they didn’t compare
to that kiss Jennifer planted on my lips before she left.”

“If you shut up I promise to share my nightmare with
you after I stop by to pick you up.”

“Oh, that’s okay, Cy. I don’t want your next-door
neighbor. She’s not my type. Remember, I already have my dream girl.”

We had wasted another couple of minutes. It was 9:42.
Enough of this gobbledygook. I needed to get off the phone so I could leave and
pick up Lou, and then head for my sugar.

I walked out my back door to where I’d left Lightning
a couple of days earlier, when we left on our road trip. I almost stumbled over
a tricycle, hammer, and bucket of nails that I found in my path. They were
setting next to the sandbox. All the way over to Lou’s I thought of ways I
could get even with George. I thought of mailing my next-door neighbor a love
letter, signed as if George had sent it, and include his address. But I figured
that if I did, God would send me back to that outhouse, maybe for a whole week.
I wondered why George didn’t get punished when he did something bad to me, but
God always punishes me, even if I only have bad thoughts about someone else.

+++

Lou and I arrived at Thelma Lou’s and Jennifer did her
best to make me feel welcome. Lou watched for a little while and acted like he
was going to throw up, until he and Thelma Lou tried to copy us. It was a poor
imitation. There is only one original.

We had consumed four of our dozen cupcakes after we
left The Twisted Sifter, so that meant we had two cupcakes each for breakfast.
Actually, to get a better idea of what we liked, Jennifer and I split our four
cupcakes. She cut each cupcake down the middle, but I think her cutting was a
little off-center, and my piece of each cupcake was slightly larger than hers.
Of course, we didn’t do this until we drew numbers, and one at a time we each
selected a cupcake until there were no cupcakes left. We all did our best to
imitate immaturity, as we dotted each other’s nose and licked it off. As we did
this, we worked in teams. Jennifer and I worked on each others noses, while Lou
and Thelma Lou did the same on the second team.  They didn’t dot and lick as
well as we did.

The girls knew that Lou and I had a case to get back
to, so around 11:00, we dispensed with the fun and games and divvied up the
turtle cheesecake and pecan pie for later. I took one-half of each to my house
for Lou and me to turn to any time we needed any inspiration. I couldn’t help
but think back to those days when this was a normal occurrence for us.

Thelma Lou cut hers and Jennifer’s delicacies in half.
If Jennifer got hungry on her long drive home, she could nibble, although most
of her nibbling would be on those cookies we’d bought at Burke’s that we were
too full to finish. Lou and I received our share of those, too. We needed to
solve the case soon, because I needed to get back to losing weight.

We had postponed Jennifer’s departure (and ours too)
long enough. I walked Jennifer out to her car, with Lou and Thelma Lou ten
paces behind. We kissed and hugged and shared sweet nothings, and then the
second team moved in to say their goodbyes. The three of us who weren’t leaving
town walked out to the street, and stood and waved until Jennifer’s car was
merely a spot in the distance. After a couple minutes of thanking Thelma Lou
for all of her ideas and making the last few days so much better, Lou kissed
her goodbye.

Chapter
Thirty-
Seven

Lou and I headed to Lightning. We needed to get back
to the case.

“Say, Lou, did God give you today’s clue, yet?”

“Lincoln Rhyme.”

“I see. There was a young man named Lincoln, who read
about a wooden shoe voyager named Blinken.”

“Don’t quit your day job, Cy. Oh, I forgot, you
already have, sort of. Anyway, that’s the start of a limerick, and not a very
good one.”

“Capitalized Limerick is in Ireland, and the small
limerick is a rhyme, which matches today’s clue. I assume God didn’t give you
any more information this time, like for instance, what it means?”

Lou gave me the “will you ever learn” look which told
me the answer was “no.”

“That’s okay, I’ll check with my friend when we get to
our house.”

Lou’s raised eyebrows told me he didn’t have a clue
what I was talking about.

“Mr. Google. I don’t know how I was able to solve a
case without him.”

“Are your sure it isn’t Miss Google, Cy? And anyway,
maybe you were able to solve all these cases because you had a good sergeant
with you all along.”

“I don’t know about that, but you are a cut above
Schultz.”

+++

I parked Lightning in the back of the driveway, like I
usually do, and we went in through the back door, so I could show Lou my latest
gifts from George. He laughed, and told me he didn’t receive duplicates. I
invited him to come over anytime he wants to play.

I unlocked the door, walked in, took off my jacket,
and kicked off my shoes. Lou carried in our sweet treats. I told him to set the
cheesecake and pecan pie on the dining room table, next to the bowl of nuts. It
hadn’t taken the AARP article to get me to eating healthier (except for the
last few days). I’ve bought more fruits, vegetables, and nuts since Dr.
Littleton harped on me to lose weight or else. I now keep a bowl of various
kinds of nuts on the dining room table, although I make it a point not to dip into
it more than once a day and I never eat more than a handful of nuts. As Lou and
I arrived at my house and I walked past that dining room table, I couldn’t help
but think of the peanuts laying there. I know that walnuts, almonds, and a
couple of other nuts are better for me, but none of them are cracked as easily
as peanuts. Some peanuts are easy to crack the first time you pick them up.
Others resist your first effort and cause you to turn them over where they can
be cracked more easily in another place. Maybe our case was like those peanuts.
Maybe we needed to turn it over and approach it another way. But how?

The question of how made me think of what I had to do
next. It was time to head to the computer to see what Google could tell me
about a Lincoln Rhyme.

I clicked and learned a little, but not as much as I
wanted to know. I found out that Lincoln Rhyme is a character created by author
Jeffery Deaver, and that he is a quadriplegic. I hoped that God wasn’t telling
Lou or me that we would become a quadriplegic. I needed to know more about
Lincoln Rhyme, and I knew just the person who could tell me more. Myrtle Evans.
I picked up the phone book and located Scene of the Crime’s phone number.

“Scene of the Crime, where we help you to start
solving your mystery.”

“Mrs. E., this is Cy Dekker. I need some help.”

“I’ll see if I can help.”

“Are you familiar with a character called Lincoln
Rhyme, created by Jeffery Deaver?”

“Of course.”

“Well, what all can you tell me about this character?”

“Let me hit the high points, and then if you need to
know more, I’ve got a lot of Deaver’s books you can read. Lincoln Rhyme is a
criminologist. One of the best crime solvers in New York City. But he has an
accident at a crime scene, falls through a floor, and it turns him into a
quadriplegic. He becomes depressed, but his mind still works, so the police
seek him out to solve crimes they are having trouble solving. Rhyme uses Amelia
Sachs to be his legs, and she goes to crime scenes, walks them for him, and
tells him what she sees. Then, Rhyme instructs the man who takes care of him,
Thom, to write everything on a white board, so that they won’t forget anything.
Rhyme has Sachs walk the grid and bring him everything she finds that might
lead them to the criminal. Sometimes they run scientific tests on what they
find. Is that good enough for you?”

“It is for now. Thanks.”

I hung up and turned to Lou.

“Well, what did you learn, Cy?”

“I learned that I am Lincoln Rhyme. I am to remain
here while you do all the work.”

“I don’t think that’s it, Cy. I already do all the
work.”

“Very funny.”

“So, what did you find out about this Rhyme character
that we might be able to use?”

“Well, he’s a quadriplegic. Neither of us are, so I
don’t think that’s it. But he has his assistant walk the crime scene, back and
forth, and look for clues. I can’t picture you walking the crime scene.
Besides, I don’t think there would be much there to see now, so I don’t think
that’s what God is trying to tell us, either. And when Frank and his boys went
over the scene, I don’t think they missed anything. Rhyme’s minions run tests
on what they find, but we haven’t found anything, so we don’t have any tests to
run. The only other thing is that Rhyme has the man who takes care of him write
down everything they learn on a white board, so I guess that must be it. Lou,
it looks like you have some writing ahead of you, and I already have a white
board. Do you remember where I got it?”

“No. Should I?”

“Yeah, remember that night, not long after you and I
started to work for the department over thirty years ago, when Bob Pritchard
told me to get some people together that he wanted to come over and talk to us
about something?”

“Oh, yeah. It was Amway, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, well remember that Pritchard was so nervous
that night he was sweating like a rainstorm?”

“Cy, you might refrain from using the word rainstorm
for a while, but yeah, I remember.”

“Well, he was so nervous that he forgot and left his
white board here. When I remembered to tell him about it a week later, he told
me I could keep it, that he had given up on Amway.”

“I remember he didn’t last long. I think it bothered
him that some of the guys were calling him Soapy.”

“Yeah, but you know what? Before he quit he sponsored
Ty Richards. Remember him? Ty went on to make a boatload of money in Amway and
retired from the department at thirty-two. I heard he was making well up in six
figures way back then, and I ran into him a couple of years ago. He’s
semi-retired now, but he has a house in the Smoky Mountains and another one on one
of those ritzy islands near Sarasota, and he said to feel free to give him a
call sometime and come visit. Or if we wanted to vacation at one of his homes
while he’s at the other, just give him a call. He was always such a nice guy. I
think that had a lot to do with him making so much money. He was always wanting
to help others. But enough about him. Let me go locate that white board. I
think it’s in the back of my walk-in closet in the bedroom.”

I left Lou sitting there and returned a couple of
minutes later with a white board and easel. I dusted off the board and placed
it on the easel. I couldn’t believe it when one of the markers still worked. I
would’ve thought all of them had dried out and we’d have to go out and buy
more.

“Okay, Lou, get up and write. Draw a column for
suspects, one for motives, and one for whatever information we have so far.”

Lou got up and took the marker. I read off all our
suspects, even the ones we didn’t think of as suspects. A couple of minutes
later the easy part was done and I was able to read Lou’s writing. Lou followed
up by writing down a motive for any of our suspects who might have had a motive
for killing Kincaid, flimsy as it might have been.

“Okay, Lou. Now write down anything that we know for
sure.”

Lou wrote down, “Kincaid was murdered.” Well, at least
it was a starting place.

“And we know he died from a blow to the head. Frank
said he was hit three or four times, but only one of those blows was struck
while he was still standing, and the first blow was probably all it took to
kill him. Who knows why the murderer struck him more than once?”

“Maybe he or she wanted to make sure Kincaid was
dead.”

“Maybe. What else do we know for sure? We know that
his money was taken. Maybe there were checks too, but we don’t know that for
sure. We also know, if we are to believe Joan Arrington, and I think we can,
that Kincaid drove to the park Saturday morning. But Sunday his truck and
trailer were found at the motel. Kincaid couldn’t have driven them back to the
motel, but someone did. Why did someone do that? Draw a fourth column for what
we have to figure out. We also have to figure out what happened prior to his
death, and what happened afterward, which is where the moving of the truck and
trailer fit in.”

“Cy, let’s assume the murderer drove Kincaid’s truck
and trailer to the motel. Someone stayed in that room Saturday night, but not
Sunday night. You would think it was whoever murdered him, but if so, he or she
was both brave and stupid. But that’s not the point I’m trying to make. We’re
familiar with the motel. It’s an old one that still uses old-fashioned keys. We
saw the key, so we know that all the keys have the room number on them, but not
the name of the motel. That means that the murderer was either someone local,
who knows what motel uses those types of keys, or someone who was staying
there, meaning one of the vendors.”

“Good reasoning, Lou. I think that means we can’t
eliminate anyone. But let me add one more category. It could also have been
someone Kincaid told he was going to be staying there.”

“Like his wife?”

“Like his wife, or one of the other vendors who might
have stayed somewhere else. Not all of the vendors stayed at the Resting Place
Motel, you know. We have a few others around town, too.”

“Does that mean we can eliminate Johnny Delmont? He
said he stayed in his camper, and he and Kincaid weren’t on speaking terms, so
Kincaid wouldn’t have told him where he was staying.”

“No, Lou, I think we need to keep Delmont in the mix.
We know that he didn’t like Kincaid, and he had ways to find out where Kincaid
was staying.”

“What you’re saying, Cy, is that we’re not able to
eliminate anyone, and we’re no closer to solving this thing than we were before
we spent that night in the outhouse. Do you think we are pretty sure as to the
time he was murdered?”

“I think so. It must have been somewhere around 8:00.
We know that all the vendors were there until 7:00 or a little after, but we
don’t know how many stayed after that. Delbert Cross said he left before Joan
Arrington left, but did he? I think he did, but did he hide in the trees
somewhere and come back after she left? At first, Earl Clements said he wasn’t
there Saturday night, but then he said he was. He said he came back and gave
the Statue of Liberty to Joan Arrington, but she said he didn’t. Which one is
lying? We know Wayne Edmonds was there as Kincaid’s last customer. He said he
saw Joan Arrington when he got there, but she was gone when he left. But he
said someone was there, because a shadow streaked across the open area to
Kincaid’s tent shortly after Edmonds left it. But who could it have been?
Delbert Cross, the vendor who left one day early? Earl Clements, the
disgruntled customer? Vernon Pitts, the angry parent? Johnny Delmont, who said
Kincaid stole his idea? Lois Weddington, who introduced Kincaid to some shows?
Or Joan Arrington, his next-door neighbor? Or could it have been someone who
doesn’t seem to have been able to do it, like Maureen Eidorn, the fair
coordinator, George or Myra Ingram, the security people who supposedly didn’t
show up until an hour later, or Kincaid’s wife, who the sheriff said was back
in Murray when the murder took place?”

“Cy, I can’t see where any of the ones in the last
group could have done it. Maureen Eidorn didn’t seem to have a motive, and
every time we saw her another woman was with her. The Ingrams don’t seem to
have any motive. They lived six hours from the victim, and we have no evidence
they ever met. And Kincaid’s wife was a long way away.”

“We say that Kincaid’s wife was six hours away, but
actually, in a way it was seven, since Murray is an hour behind Lexington. The
sheriff said he saw her in Murray Saturday afternoon. I don’t see any reason he
would lie. So, that wouldn’t give her enough time to drive to Hilldale to murder
her husband, although murdering him here with her supposedly back in Murray
sure is a good alibi.”

“Are you saying she’s the one who murdered him, Cy?”

“No, I’m with you. I don’t see how she could have done
it. I’m also not too keen on putting any of the other women on my suspect list.
I can’t see where any of them has a motive. All of those with motives seem to
be the men.”

“That does it, Cy. Cherchez la femme.”