Murder in the Winter (11 page)

As I thought, I remembered that both were scheduled to
be at the inn at the same time, but was that something that someone disguised
merely to throw someone else off? And if so, was that someone Longworth or me?
Could it be that the costume changes were merely to gain points with Longworth?
Could it be that this person was unaware that murders would take place at the
inn?  If so, why did our “new” guest hightail it out of here as soon as I
questioned him? After both of us reflected for a few minutes, I turned to Lou.

“Okay, Lou, what do you make of all this?”

“You mean is the new guy a new guy?”

“Right, Lou. Are we looking for two different people,
and if not, is our busy actor friend a victim of circumstances or a murderer?”

“You’d think he or she wouldn’t have left unless our
actor friend is the murderer. But then there’s something else to look at, too.”

“What’s that, Lou?”

“What if this person is really innocent? What if what
the second guy told us is true? Maybe he is some guy who was late getting
here.”

“Thanks a lot, Lou. I can always thank you for making
my job harder.”

“Well, you asked.”

“There’s one thing we know, Lou.”

“What’s that, Cy?”

“Whoever is claiming to be Claude Williams is a liar.
There is no Claude Williams. At least not in Peoria, Illinois.”

“Well, he could have an unlisted phone number, or
lived with a family member. Besides, that doesn’t make this guy our murderer,
Cy. Remember, the victim claimed to be someone else, too. Among the guests,
only Tony McArthur seems to have told the truth.”

“That’s settles it, Lou. McArthur is our murderer.”

The two of us enjoyed a good laugh before continuing.

“Cy, here’s something to think about. Maybe McArthur
is the murderer. Maybe he sent all these people out with fake names to muddy
the waters.  Then, he shows up looking like himself and is who he says he is.
Everyone knows a murderer should tell the truth as much as possible.”

“I’m still bummed out because we don’t know how many
people we’re dealing with. Are Isabel Dukenfield and Claude Williams the same
person, or two people?”

“Well, the fingerprints seem to say one person, except
for one thing. That Williams fellow wasn’t here all that long. It could be
possible that he didn’t touch anything in the room except the inside of the
doorknob.”

“But you’re forgetting one thing, Lou.”

“What’s that, Cy?”

“I’ll grant you that he might not have been here long
enough to leave fingerprints, but one person did leave fingerprints in both
rooms. So, no matter what, one person, whoever that person was, was in both
rooms.”

“Maybe neither of them left any prints and they were
left by a third person.”

“A woman who spends two days in a hotel room will
leave some fingerprints. Those prints belong to whoever Isabel Dukenfield
really is. What we need to figure out is whether we have one or two actors. Was
a woman in both rooms while a man didn’t stay long enough to leave any prints,
or did the same person play both parts? I would go ask McArthur, but if he
knows, he isn’t talking.”

12

After wasting most of the afternoon and getting nowhere,
I realized it was time for afternoon snacks, or hors d’oeuvres, as the inn
prefers to call them. I sent Lou to walk down enough steps so that he could
crane his neck around the balustrade to see if they were serving pâté again. If
so, I was on a chocolate diet. He came back and said he couldn’t tell what it
was, but it wasn’t pâté. I decided to be brave, locked the door, and followed
the big lemming down the stairs.

Reluctantly, I took a bite of something that looked
like chitlins, or chitterlings, as they probably called them at the Overlook
Inn. I never thought of them as a delicacy, but I couldn’t figure out what else
it could be that I was munching on. Whatever they were, I wasn’t sure I wanted
to eat them again, but I was hungry. The inn provided a dipping sauce, which
wasn’t bad. I thought about dipping the chitlin, or should I say chitterling,
in the dipping sauce, licking the sauce off, and then dipping again. I was
considering it when Mrs. Longworth walked up.

”Well, Lieutenant, Sergeant, how do you like the calamari?”

So, it wasn’t chitlins. Now, all I had to do was find
someone who knew what calamari was.

I smiled at Mrs. Longworth, and told her the truth.

“Without a doubt, this is the best calamari I’ve ever
had.”

“Oh, that’s so good to hear. We love for our guests to
enjoy their food while they’re here.”

I wasn’t going to lie and tell her I enjoyed the food,
so I took another calamari and dipped it in the sauce. I plopped it into my
mouth before she could ask me any more questions. As I chewed, she walked away.

Before I finished swallowing, her husband walked up. I
hoped he wasn’t going to ask me how I was enjoying the calamari. He didn’t.

“Lieutenant, I’ve been thinking, and I might have a solution
to one of your problems.”

I wasn’t prepared for what he said next.

“You know you were wondering whether Isabel Dukenfield
and Claude Williams are the same person. I might have an answer to that
question.”

“Oh?” was all that I could mutter.

“I know, Lieutenant, that you mentioned you do not
have much occasion to frequent plays, but are you familiar with an early
comedian by the name of W. C. Fields?”

“Oh, sure. I’ve even seen some of his movies.”

I could tell the man was pleased to see I had some culture.

“Do you have any idea what Mr. Fields real name was?”

I could see he planned to milk this for all that it
was worth, so I humored him and said, “No.”

“William Claude Dukenfield. Understand? W. C. Fields
was an actor. Our guest, who’s probably an actor, joined us twice, once as
Isabel Dukenfield, and once as Claude Williams. Quite perceptive of him. Or
her. But since W. C. Fields was a man, I assume that our actor friend is a man.
As to who that man is, I will leave that up to you. I have no idea. And that
bothers me, that a guest at the inn could fool me like that. Whoever he is, if
he’s not your murderer, I might have some parts for him, when we start
rehearsals.”

“I appreciate the help, Mr. Longworth. If you decide
to get out of the inn and play business, we might have a job for you at the department.”

I was glad that Longworth had helped us. While I
probably would’ve figured out sooner or later that we were dealing with only
one person, instead of two, I didn’t have enough knowledge of W. C. Fields to
make that connection. Was the W. C. Fields ruse for my benefit, or Longworth’s?
The actor’s cat-and-mouse attitude fit in with the person who left footprints
and a note for me, and this must’ve been the same person who made the tracks
through the snow and over the edge of the cliff, but I would never have made
the W. C. Fields connection. Could it be that our actor friend wanted to put
one over on Longworth and the police at the same time?

+++

Lou and I sprawled out in a couple of the chairs in
the sitting room and let our dinner settle. No one else was around, so we could
sprawl to our heart’s content.

I looked out the window. There was a moon, and the
snow glistened in the moonlight. In my younger days, I would’ve liked  to 
have  been  out  there  in  it. In my middle-age years, I knew better. I loved
snow, as long as it was out there and I was in here. From what I could tell,
the temperature had not risen enough for the snow to melt. Of course, people
have always said that Precipice Point is the coldest place in the county. As
long as I was at Precipice Point, I would agree with them.

I sat and watched as a rabbit scampered across the
snow. Stupid rabbit should’ve been hibernating. I would’ve been, if I hadn’t
had work to do. I tried to push the thought of work from my mind, so I could
enjoy the view. If the food improved, I could get used to this place. I
wouldn’t mind a dip in the pool, as long as there wasn’t anyone else around to
check out my circumference. It would be okay if Lou were there. His circumference
resembles mine. Few others I know of are so blessed. Lou moved closer, so he
could enjoy the view, but not close enough to touch. We weren’t that kind of
couple.

“Remember, Cy, when we used to make snowballs and hide
until one of the girls came by.”

“Yeah, those were the days, Lou.”

“Remember that McElfresh girl?”

“Sadie? Yeah, she was my kind of girl. Remember the
time she sneaked around the house and let us have it?”

“Boy, do I. I turned around just in time to get a snowball
right in the kisser. Wonder whatever happened to her? You know, she’s the only
girl we ever let set foot in our tree house.”

Our trip down Memory Lane was interrupted by a phone
call.

“There’s a call for you, Lieutenant. A Mr. Harris.
Says it’s urgent.”

“I’ll take it in my room.”

I grabbed hold of the railing and lumbered up the
steps, eager to hear what news Frank had for us. Had he finished the autopsies?
I unlocked the door, Lou right behind me. I dashed over to the phone and picked
it up.

“I’ve got it!” I hollered into the phone, in case Longworth
was still on the line.

“I hope I don’t catch it from you,” Frank replied.

“Oh, it’s only you. I thought it was somebody.”

“That’s okay, Cy. If you don’t want to know the
results of the autopsies that’s okay with me. Here I come in and slave on my
day off, but what do you care? I could’ve stayed home with my family and left
these two in cold storage until Monday.”

I’d let Frank go on long enough.

“Okay, Frank. I still love you. You’re still my
favorite medical examiner. Well, except for that cute little number over in
Ridgeville.”

“I’ll tell Loraine that you said that.”

“That she’s cuter than you are. You betcha! I’m sure
of that any day of the week.”

“Should I go on before I get an inferiority complex?”

“Out with it, Frank.”

“Well, I’ve finished the autopsies, but I haven’t been
able to identify the bodies yet.”

“Can you have somebody run some pictures of them out
to the inn? I’ve got a feeling there are a couple of people here who might be
able to identify them.”

“Is tomorrow morning okay?”

“Can you make it early?”

“When was the last time you ever did early, Cy?”

“Well, if I can wrap things up here, Lou and I might
be able to make it to church in the morning.”

“Well, what I’m about to tell you might let you do
just that. Cy, do you know when these two guys checked into the inn?”

“One of them checked in Thursday morning, the other
Thursday afternoon.”

“Well, first let me tell you that both men died of poisoning.
I won’t burden you with what kind. I’ll just tell you what you need to know.
Neither man was poisoned at the inn. If my findings are right, and I’d bet on
them, I’d say both men ingested the poison on Wednesday, sometime between noon
and midnight.”

“Wednesday?”

“Wednesday. P.M. As in before they went to the inn.
Wednesday. As in before the snowstorm, whatever that’s worth. That doesn’t mean
that somebody at the inn didn’t poison them. It just means that they didn’t
poison them at the inn.”

“It means something else, too, Frank.”

“What’s that, Cy?”

“It means our puny suspect list has expanded. Maybe a
whole lot.”

13

I cornered Lou on the way down the stairs and asked
him our message for the day. It was “I’d rather be in Philadelphia.” I was
confused. No one in his right mind would rather be in Philadelphia. Could it be
that something happened in Philadelphia that might have some bearing on the
outcome of our case? I didn’t think so. Is it possible that someone connected
with this case comes from Philadelphia? We’d reached the bottom of the steps
without any light going on inside my head, but then seldom do Lou’s clues make
any sense at the time he shares them with me. I put it aside for the time being
and prayed for a delicious breakfast. My prayers were answered.

I’d just finished the second helping and had gathered
enough strength to push myself from the table when the front door opened and an
officer arrived with pictures of the deceased. I huddled with Lou in the
corner, and slid the photos from the large envelope.  I held the two pictures
side-by-side. I honestly couldn’t tell which gentleman played which part. Neither
looked at all like the two people I’d encountered. I could tell Lou was
baffled, as well.

+++

I collared Longworth, asked him for a moment of his
time. Still suspicious of any move I made, but feeling better since I hadn’t
summoned him to the conference room, he stepped over to where we could have
some privacy.

“Mr. Longworth, I wonder if you can identify the gentlemen
in these two photos.”

I placed the photos side by side, just as I had when
Lou and I had looked at them.

“This gentleman,” Longworth said, pointing at the picture
on the left, “is Carter Thornton. The other one is Matthew Simon. Both have
performed in my plays on many occasions. I assume these are the two men who
died at the inn.”

“And what gave you that idea?”

“Maybe because they are both lying on a slab with
their eyes closed.”

“Do you know anyone who might have had anything
against either of these men?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Not even a jealous actor somewhere along the way?”

“Lieutenant, I am not going to insult your intelligence
by intimating that one actor has never been jealous of another, or that one
actor has never murdered another actor. But I do not know of anyone who might
have had anything against either of these fine gentlemen. Carter was a
consummate actor. As fine of an actor as I have directed. I worked with Matthew
Simon on many occasions, as well. I would not have continued to have worked
with him if I was not pleased with his work. This is definitely a setback to
the local theater industry. Both men will be extremely hard to replace.”

I thanked Longworth and told him that our work at the
inn was finished for the time being. He smiled when I told him our work was
finished, but his smiled faded when I added “for the time being.” I asked him
for one favor.

“Mr. Longworth, I am sure Miss Humphert has enjoyed
her stay at the inn and is reluctant to leave before morning. Would you please
serve her lunch in her room, but offer her the pleasure of joining you at your
table this evening. It would mean so much to all of us if you would grant us
this final wish.”

I could tell that Longworth had no idea why I asked
for this, but I assumed he was willing to do anything if he could get the
police away from the inn.

+++

Lou and I packed and allowed Manfred to carry our luggage
downstairs. He asked if he could get our car for us, but I declined. I hurried
to the garage. I wanted to make one final loop of the driveway before leaving
the inn behind. Even a magnificent structure like the Overlook Inn looks good
in the rearview mirror. I made the three-quarters loop from the garage to the
front steps of the inn. Manfred watched for me, and he opened the door for Lou
when I stopped in front. We allowed Manfred to load our luggage into Lightning
and tipped him generously. I looked at my watch as I drove away. If we hurried,
we had just enough time to grab a couple of doughnuts before the morning
service.

+++

I drove into the crowded parking lot at church, refrained
from parking in a space marked “handicapped,” “visitors,” or “seniors.” Most
Sunday mornings Lou and I are early enough to savor the delectable doughnuts
and still make it to the back pew of the church before the choice seats are
taken. This time, we scarfed down two doughnuts each, hurried to the restroom
to wash our fingers after licking them, and hustled into the sanctuary, only to
find that the best available seats were two seats in the middle of the third
row from the back. Instead, we opted for two seats on the aisle eight rows
closer to the front. Our pastor, who has quite a sense of humor, noticed our dilemma.
He approached us just as the music began and stuck out his hand.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t believe I know you. Are you
visiting by any chance.”

I stuck my tongue out at him and he chuckled all the
way to the pulpit. I looked around and saw that several people were enjoying
our predicament. I took notice of who they were and made a mental note to share
their names with those in the traffic division.

As usual, the music lifted my spirit and put me in a
mood to worship. The pastor spoke directly to me, as he always does, and no one
rushed from the church after the service in order to beat the rush to the local
restaurants or hurry home to check on the roast.

Lou and I lingered, exchanged small talk with some of
the rest of the congregation, and then left the church, thankful that we didn’t
have to hightail it back to the inn. We were glad to be back on our home turf.

+++

When Lou and I desire companionship from the opposite
sex, we double date. I will forever be in love with Eunice and Betty McElroy
with her deceased husband Hugh, but Betty and I enjoy a meal together at least
once a month, and sometimes more often. We enjoy each other’s company. Betty is
also there if I need a woman’s opinion, and I am there for her anytime she
needs something repaired. I know enough repairmen that I can recommend a good
one.

Betty and Hugh were fortunate to have been married a
lot longer than Eunice and I. They had two children, now grown, who live out of
state. While Betty’s children seldom come to Hilldale to visit, she visits each
of them on occasion, and has opportunities to play with grandchildren,
something that I can do only in my dreams.

While Betty and I are merely friends, Lou and Thelma
Lou Spencer have more of a relationship. Sometimes I think the only two things
that keep them from tying the knot is that both of them have lived by
themselves since entering adulthood and always can do what they want as a
single, and that Lou worries about my having to eat by myself if he gets
married.

While Betty no longer works, Thelma Lou leaves the
house each day for her job as a customer service representative for the
telephone company. While many people across the country who need assistance
talk to a telephone company representative in a distant state or country, those
of us who live in Hilldale are fortunate enough to have someone nearby.

+++

On the drive back from the inn, Lou and I decided that
we needed a day to step away from the case, in order to see it better the next
day. We made plans to go out to eat, go home for a much-needed nap, then see if
the girls would want to go out and eat.

+++

I dropped Lou off at his apartment, then drove to my
place, ecstatic that I didn’t need to sneak past my next-door neighbor to enter
my house. As I drove up the driveway I saw what was left of the footprints my
visitor made on Friday morning, a time that seemed so long ago. The wind had
wiped them away, but the snow hadn’t left Hilldale behind. Only the streets
were clear of snow. Our yards would be covered for a few more days. I looked
around and could tell that a few of my neighbors hadn’t left their homes since
the snow fell. While all walks were shoveled, some cars were snowbound due to
snowdrifts in the driveways.

I strolled into the house, wanting to take my phone
off the hook, but knowing that my profession kept me from doing so. It didn’t
matter. Only an emergency call would interrupt my Sunday afternoon nap. But
before I did so, I had a phone call to make. Thelma Lou was always eager to go
out with Lou, so before he got out of the car I told him I would call Betty
McElroy to see if she’d want to make it a foursome for dinner. She said “yes,”
so I called Lou, who confirmed dinner with Thelma Lou. We agreed to pick the
girls up at 7:00.

I went to my bed, lay down, and fell quickly to sleep.
Some time later, I woke up, a little disoriented at first, and then remembered
the strange surroundings in which I found myself. Home. That place that I had
left behind oh so long ago. I turned over and looked at the clock. Even though
it was winter, it was still light enough that I could see the hands and make
out the time. 4:18. Plenty of time before Lou and I had to pick up the girls.

My stomach growled right on cue. I rousted myself from
the bed, staggered to the kitchen, and rummaged through the refrigerator. No
coquille St. Jacques. Not even any
pâté
de foie gras. I would’ve let out a big “Yes!” but there wasn’t much of anything
else to eat, either. I looked in the freezer, found a package of pizza rolls,
and preheated the oven. Several stomach growls later, I plucked them from the
oven, put them on a plate to let them cool, fixed myself something to drink,
and enjoyed my snack. After I’d scraped the last of the cheese and sauce from
the plate, I burped, and strolled over to the TV.

+++

As I mentioned earlier, Lou and I have hobbies. A policeman
needs something to get his mind off his work. While Lou and I have
approximately the same shape, we do not share the same interests outside of
work, other than our newfound love for reading murder mysteries. I didn’t want
to begin reading a new mystery. I would have to put it away in the morning. I
couldn’t justify reading a book when there was a real murder left to solve.
Besides, with both of us ensconced in semi-retirement, there would be plenty of
time to read. 

Lou has three hobbies. He recently traded the classic
novels, he didn’t always enjoy for murder mysteries that tickled his palette.
Plus, he works crossword and jigsaw puzzles. Both types of puzzles would
shatter what little patience I have, but they relax Lou. He spends most of his
time in one room, the living room. The first thing you see when you step inside
his apartment are walls of bookshelves, each shelf full of books. The next
thing you notice is a card table that is always up, always with a puzzle in
progress. If Lou isn’t sitting at the card table, he is relaxing in his
recliner, working on a crossword puzzle or devouring another murder mystery
novel. 

While Lou likes to read and work puzzles, I like to
delve into my DVD collection and watch some of the best comedies of the classic
TV days.  No one has ever been funnier than Lucille Ball. Watching
I Love
Lucy
can bring me out of a grumpy mood. Other favorite shows of mine are
Hogan’s
Heroes, The Andy Griffith Show,
and
The Beverly Hillbillies.
I
selected a DVD of the first year
I Love Lucy
was on the air, plucked it
from its case, inserted it into the DVD player, sat back, and drifted back in
time. Time passed quickly. Then next thing I knew the phone rang. I paused the
DVD and walked over to the phone. It was Lou. He was on his way.

+++

Lou doesn’t like to drive. When we work, I always
drive, unless an injury keeps me from driving. But when we double-date, Lou
always backs his nearly-mint-condition red-and-white, 1957 Chevy from the
garage, turns the radio to an oldies station, and thinks he’s hot stuff. The
girls like his car, too. Not that they have anything against Lightning. What’s
not to like about Lightning? But there’s just something special about a vintage
automobile. 
 

+++

We had a pleasant evening. It was nice to spend time
with someone without interrogating her and wondering if she had anything to do
with our murder investigation. The four of us had a wonderful dinner, but then
it came time to take the girls home, because Monday would be a busy day for us.
The girls understood. Being single, they’re both just glad to get out of the
kitchen and mingle with other people from time to time, even  if  those  other 
people  are Lou and me. They don’t even mind us calling them “the girls.”
Besides, they call us “the boys.”

+++

As soon as Lou returned from walking Thelma Lou to the
door, our minds switched back to work mode. It was time to forget about what a
relief it was to get back home and all the fun we had at dinner and focus on
the case. We reflected back upon the last few days. Lou’s message from God.
“Ford Theater and the Bates Motel.” Actors and murder. It was time to look
ahead. It seemed obvious to me what we needed to do on Monday morning.
Everything pointed to Oppenheimer Arms. Both of the deceased lived there. We
didn’t know if they were poisoned there, but it was time to pay the place a
visit, to meet its residents. Who knows? Maybe we were about to come face to face
with a murderer for the first time. Or see what a murderer looks like when he
wasn’t performing for the police, or executing a murder in disguise. Was our
murderer someone who lives at the apartment complex? Or someone we had left
behind at the inn? Only time would tell.