Murder in the Winter (17 page)

22

I placed the pictures around the table, facing out.
Lou and I didn’t know what we were looking for. We didn’t even know if there
was anything to find. We just knew that we had to make use of every possible
clue available. Within five minutes we spotted something.

“What do you make of that, Lou?”

“It looks like somebody dropped by the place, then
left. I wonder who it could be.”

One of the pictures showed tracks made by vehicle that
entered the parking area behind Oppenheimer Arms sometime between when the snow
stopped falling on Thursday night and when Profitt’s sister took the pictures
on Friday morning. But who?

“Let’s take inventory, Lou. There’s Mrs. Crouch’s car
in the first slot, and Rothschild, the crippled guy’s car in the next space.
See, both are covered with snow. Rothschild’s is probably still covered with
snow. At least it was when we saw it. Then there’s nothing in the next spot,
where Mulroney, the quick change artist’s truck is supposed to be. Then, the
next spot is where someone came and left. It’s the spot reserved for Thornton,
one of the dead guys. Then, another snow-covered spot where Simon’s car
should’ve been. Then Profitt’s car, still with snow on it. That’s as far as the
pictures go.”

“Except that, Cy, you can see the side of McArthur’s
SUV, so you know it’s there.  The only one we don’t know about is Gravitt’s,
the other dead guy. So, where does that leave us, Cy? Do you think that Mulroney
came back during the night?”

“Why would he, Lou? Remember, this was taken on Friday
morning. He played the part of that old woman on Thursday and Friday.
Supposedly, he didn’t leave until Friday night.”

“Maybe he left his truck at that trailer.”

“Yeah, but how did he get to the trailer? No
footprints. Remember?”

“Yeah, I remember. The only thing we know for sure
about these tracks is that they weren’t made by any of the cars we see in the
picture. They had to have been made by some vehicle that came here, then left.
But why did someone come here in the middle of the night, or sometime Friday
morning? No one was poisoned on Thursday night or Friday. They were all poisoned
on Wednesday. At least two of them were, and I assume the other guy was. What
reason would someone have to come here, probably in the middle of the night
when no one could see him?”

“I’ve got an idea, Cy. Maybe it was to return the
boots to McArthur’s apartment.”

“You might have something there, Lou. And if so, that
eliminates Rothschild, Profitt, and Mrs. Crouch. But who is our visitor? It
looks like these tracks were made by someone who doesn’t live there. Could it
be our plumber friend? If so, where is he now?”

Our next few attempts to identify the tracks were
lame. Because we couldn’t see Gravitt’s car in any of the pictures, we wondered
if the tracks could’ve been made by his car. Then, we remembered that his car
was still covered with snow on Monday. Besides, he was one of the dead guys. We
were looking for a live one.

We were getting nowhere, so we decided to prioritize
our suspects. We opened a package of M&M’s, and used different color
M&M’s to differentiate between different people’s likelihood of guilt. Our
prime suspects merited yellow M&M’s, which stood for lily livered cowards. Longworth,
Antoine, Rothschild, Mulroney, McArthur, the plumber, and the tire track maker
were designated with yellow M&M’s. Estelle Longworth; Michael, the sous
chef; Justin, our white-coated server; the Mitchusons; Mrs. Crouch; and Profitt
and his sister got red ones. With those out of the way, we had only the deceased
left to consider. We gave them green M&M’s. We didn’t arrive at our
M&M’s colors haphazardly. Yellow and cowards go together, and most
murderers are cowards, so that one was a no-brainer. We chose red for the
lesser suspects, because Lou and I should be red-faced for considering them in
the first place. Coming up with a color for the dead guys was our toughest
call. Neither Lou or I had watched a body decompose, so we used our knowledge
of past-its-prime meat to determine what color we used. Both Lou and I had
heard stories of people’s refrigerators with gray or green-looking meat. I say
“heard stories,” because nothing had remained in either of our refrigerators
long enough to be past its prime. Since we were using M&M’s instead of
Crayola Crayons, we opted for green instead of gray. Too bad solving the case
wasn’t as easy.

Two hours later, disgusted, and with the Pecan Sandies
all gone, we ate the M&M’s and went to dinner.

+++

Both of us were in a mood to get messy. We entered the
Blue Moon, sidled up to our stools, and mounted them.  I looked at the chalk
board on the side wall, and studied the specials. I wanted something special,
and so did Lou.

Thelma made her way from the other end of the counter,
imitating our walk as she approached. She looked like a cowboy who’d spent an
entire day on a horse. I hoped neither of us looked like that, but expected
that we did.

“So, Charlie Chan, you put anyone behind bars today?”

“I don’t know how to tell you this, Thelma, but we
picked up your mother for vagrancy again.”

“That’s good. She called here earlier and asked if I’d
report her. Her back has been stiff these last few days after spending too many
nights on the same park bench.”

“Your mother’s been sleeping outside in this weather?”

“Yeah, she’s a tough old broad. Of course, she’s softening
up a little in her old age.”

“Just how old is she?”

“Well, if she makes it until Saturday, she’ll be one
hundred-and-two. Some of the other vagrants plan to hold a party for her. That
is, if she gets out in time.”

“We’ll see what we can do for her.”

“You do that. I knew you were good boys. Now, what can
I get you tonight?”

Lou and I ordered baby back ribs with extra sauce,
mashed potatoes floating in gravy, corn on the cob smothered in butter, and
baked apples dripping with sauce. Both of us chose homemade biscuits over
cornbread. We came to eat. Neither of us wanted to have to get up in the middle
of the night to fix a snack. We needed to eat enough to hold us until
breakfast. After we licked our platters clean, I loosened my belt a notch and
ordered dessert. Lou followed my lead. I was still frustrated, but I felt
better than when we went in. No longer was I tempted to ask Thelma where she
was on Wednesday afternoon and in the wee hours on Friday morning. I wasn’t
about to do that. I didn’t want to lose my meal ticket.

+++

As I walked out of the Blue Moon shivering in the winter
chill, I couldn’t help but wish spring would arrive soon. There’s just something
about that Sunday in early April when the time changes, and I get an extra hour
of daylight. It makes me feel like I have a new lease on life. In the meantime,
I have to force myself to conjure up some positive thoughts, and the best I can
do is to think, that although it doesn’t seem like it, each day is a little bit
longer than the day before.

I looked over at Lou and stopped daydreaming. He
doesn’t mind it when I stop to do such things as long as my doing so doesn’t
make him a wee bit colder or a little warmer than he’d prefer. I scrunched down
in my pocket, and yanked out my keys. I flipped them to Lou to open the car
door while I bent over and picked up all the change and other things that were
extracted when I tugged on my keys. I detested winter, unless I could hunker
down over a nice fire, or stand in front of the window with a mug of hot
chocolate and gaze upon a glistening snow cover. Winter meant that unless I
wanted to get sick I had to wear a lot more clothes than I wanted. I preferred
a short-sleeved shirt. I also liked wearing shorts, but wouldn’t do so outside
the walls of my own house. If I could help it, my chubby legs would not be seen
by anyone but God. I didn’t mind God seeing them. With all the problems in the
world, I’m sure that God can use a chuckle from time to time.

After rescuing my treasures, I looked around for something
to brace against as I stood up. One waddle away was a bench. I grasped it,
pulled my circumference to its full height, dusted myself off, and joined Lou
in the car. My partner laughed as I walked around the front of the car. I would
get even with him some day. Elephants have long memories.

+++

We had had a long day. Too long, but then most of our
days are too long when  we are  trying  to  solve  a  murder  that doesn’t want
to be solved. Still, I decided to make use of our drive time and see if Lou had
a revelation.

“So, how about it, Lou? Anything grab you?”

“Your next-door neighbor tried to the other day, but I
accused her of two-timing you.”

“You can have her, Lou. Let’s see if there are any vacancies
in your neighborhood.”

“You’re in one of your moods, Cy. Does that mean you’ve
solved the case or given up on it?”

“Neither. Now back to my question. Anything grab you?”

“I’ve been mulling it over. Somewhere, somehow, I believe
some of those tracks fit in somewhere. But where? And which tracks? Are we
talking about the footprints at your house? Or those tire tracks behind the
apartment building? The ones leading to that trailer? The footprints leading to
the edge of the cliff? Or the lack of tracks when we first arrived at the inn?”

“I wish I knew, Lou. We seem to have too many suspects,
but all of them have an alibi. Where do we go from here?”

I had no idea where to go, except home. I dropped Lou
off at his place, then hightailed it for my house. I managed to sneak inside
just as my next-door neighbor was ready to rip my coat off.

+++

Nothing had worked up to that point. It was time to
switch gears. I took the
I Love Lucy
DVD out of the player and put it in
its sleeve. Then I whipped out
Hogan’s Heroes.
Hogan had snow. Hogan had
underground passageways. He even had a sergeant who didn’t have a clue. I
popped in the DVD and hoped Col. Hogan would solve my case for me. Three
episodes later, I went to bed, just as frustrated, but thoroughly entertained.

+++

That night I had a monster of a nightmare. Or should I
say a triple-feature of a nightmare rolled into one. The Blue Moon had closed.
While I slept, my next-door neighbor had a contractor build a ten-foot high
brick wall around both of our houses, and arranged for a locksmith to change
all the locks to my doors. I could do nothing about either of these things, because
I was frozen to a tree just above the edge of a cliff. While I contemplated how
I would escape, I hung there watching as suspect after suspect made footprints
in the snow, while others drove around the place making tire tracks. I was
afraid to wake up, just in case all of it was true.

23

I woke Wednesday morning, and realized who and where I
was. I wished for chains that would keep me from getting up, but lay there
unshackled.  I used will power instead. I lay there thinking about the case
that was getting the best of me. Friday night I felt that we had a minimum
number of suspects, but no way to determine which one was guilty. By Saturday
night I had progressed to the place where I had lots of suspects and no way to
determine which one was guilty. That wasn’t the type of progress I wanted to
make. Why had I never gotten a case where the victim had been riddled with
bullet holes while the culprit stood over the victim with a smoking gun in his
hand? Not only do my murderers seem to like poison, but just as soon as I
eliminate some of the suspects because they weren’t at the scene, I get someone
who decides to experiment with a slow-acting poison, which builds my suspect
list to anyone who had ever met the victim. Worse than that, God torments me by
showing me all kinds of footprints and tire tracks to show that someone was
somewhere, but neither he nor she could have been where they needed to be at
the right time for me to solve the case quickly.

On Sunday, I had returned home to my bed and decent
food.  On Monday, I had lots of leads, none of which panned out. On Tuesday, I
had more places to go, and none of them led anywhere.  When Wednesday dawned,
nothing dawned on me. I was running out of ideas and people to pursue. The only
thing I  could think  to  do was to interview the neighbors on Linden Place,
but if no one in the apartment building saw anything, why should any of the
other neighbors have a bone to throw my way. Still, I had to have something to
do between meals. I might as well meet some of the other neighbors. Who knows?
Maybe I would be able to increase my suspect list, while I found people who
were willing to give them alibis.

+++

I stumbled to the shower, switched the water back and
forth from hot to cold until I was cognizant of where I was, then sprang from
the shower a new man. Okay, so I didn’t spring. And I wasn’t a new man. And I
didn’t have any more clues as to who committed these murders, but I was awake
enough to read my devotional book and pray. I never prayed for God to reveal
the murderer’s identity to me. How could I pray for that? What would I say?
“Lord, expose this person’s sins while not revealing mine.” He had given me
footprints, tire tracks, poison, and Lou’s daily clue. It was up to Lou and me
to tie them to the murderer.

+++

Ready to start tying things up, I called Sam Schumann.

“And the top of the morning to you, Sam.”

“Cy, isn’t it a little early for you to start
drinking?”

“You bet it is, Sam. I never have orange juice until
Lou and I arrive at the Blue Moon. I don’t want to spoil breakfast. You know
it’s the most important meal of the day prior to lunch.”

“What you’re saying, Cy, is that you don’t have a clue
to go on without my help.”

“Oh, I have clues, but no confessions.”

“Well, I can’t help you there, Cy, but I do have some
information about some of your rapscallions.”

“Shoot, Sam.”

“Might as well start with Arthur Rothschild. I talked
to several people about him. Only one of them has seen him walk after his
accident, if you want to call it walking. I talked to the doctor who has been
treating him for the last several years. He says for all intents and purposes,
Rothschild can’t walk. He once gave him a shot of something that took away his
pain so he could walk for a short time.

“How short of a time are we talking about, Sam?”

“Well, Dr. Yardley tried this on Rothschild in the
good doctor’s office. Rothschild was able to walk for ten to fifteen minutes before
the pain returned and threw him to the floor.”

“Ten to fifteen minutes might’ve given him enough time
to get to my house, but not enough time to get home. However, if he gave
himself two or three of those shots he could’ve made it here and back. Or close
to it.”

“I’m ahead of you on that. I anticipated that question
and asked Yardley if Rothschild had had some of this magic potion could he have
given himself consecutive shots and walked for a while. Yardley said, ‘no way.’
A second shot within twelve hours would’ve put Rothschild to sleep. A third
shot would’ve been fatal.”

“What about Rothschild’s state of mind? Did you talk
to anyone about that?”

“His doctor and several people who have known him for
years. Everyone says the same thing. At first Rothschild was bitter,
despondent. But things changed when Oppenheimer offered him a free ride so to
speak, and then the Oppenheimers moved away, and there were no more plays to
remind Rothschild about the way things once were. He seemed to adjust to his
predicament. People who’ve talked to Rothschild lately told me that even after
the Longworths moved to the inn they saw no change in Rothschild’s attitude. It
seems that he has adjusted.”

“Okay, Sam. What about McArthur? Did you find out anything
about his whereabouts this past week?”

“I talked to that Smithers guy you told me about. He
confirmed McArthur’s story. McArthur was in the Chicago area. He auditioned for
a play. And he got the part.”

“Did you confirm the dates he was there?”

“I did. He had a hotel room on Wednesday and Thursday
night. Now I didn’t talk to anyone who knows him who can place him at the
hotel, but some man using the name Tony McArthur did stay in the hotel. He
arrived Wednesday evening and checked out on Friday morning. I found a picture
of McArthur on the Internet, and e-mailed it to the hotel. The two people who
saw the man said they couldn’t say for sure, but it looked like the same guy.
Also, the flight McArthur was supposedly on didn’t arrive back in Hilldale
until late Friday afternoon.”

“Thanks a lot, Sam. It looks like you’ve eliminated
two of my best suspects. Okay, what about the others?”

“As far as those at the apartment house are concerned,
it looks like Martin Mulroney is your best bet. That isn’t saying a lot, but a
couple of people told me that he usually does whatever he can to get a part.
Still, I couldn’t get anything on him that he’d ever done anything we’d want
him for.”

“And the others?”

“It looks like Lena Crouch pulled some strings to get
that apartment manager’s job, or someone pulled some for her, but again, I
can’t find anything about her that shows she broke the law. And Profitt seems
to be an actor who decided to retire in this area. The only thing fishy about
him is why did he retire to this area? He has no ties to Hilldale, or to any
town anywhere near here. Why did he decide to come here all of a sudden? You
would think he’d go live somewhere close to his sister. Old people normally
like warmer climates.”

“Anything new about Longworth or Antoine?”

“Only that both of them were in town for a while on
Wednesday, but the only places I could tie either of them to were that
Longworth went to the bank and Antoine went shopping for groceries. Still, both
of them were in town long enough to do much more than banking and grocery
shopping.”

“Well, at least that’s something. Now, if we can just
find a couple of people that can place either of them at the apartment
building.”

“Holding a bottle of poison.”

“That would simplify things. By the way, did you find
a next of kin for any of the dearly departed?”

“Not yet, and I’m not sure that I will. While Longworth
will benefit in a big way due to Thornton’s death, I can’t find a beneficiary
for either of the other two. If they don’t have any money, their burial may be
on the county.”

“It could be that Oppenheimer left something for that,
too. I’ll check into it.”

“And what do you want me to check into?”

“Well, there’s this little motel over on Second
Street.”

“Never mind. Do you mean you have nothing else for me
to do?”

 “Not exactly, but you may be pleased to know that I
don’t have as much for you to do today.”

“You mean I can go on vacation?”

“Not quite. I have one guy I want you to check on.
This one may be tough. His name is Ray Phelps. He wandered into town a few
weeks ago, secured a temporary job at Burris Pluming, then sneaked out of town
with a fistful of money after the murders. I want you to see what you can find
out about him, and where he might’ve gone. By the way, for what it’s worth, he
did a job at Oppenheimer Arms on Thursday.”

“Well, it looks like he’s your man, Cy.”

“It would look more like it if he’d done a job at the
apartment building on Wednesday. See, if you can tie him in with any of our
other suspects.”

I shared with Sam the little bit of information I had
on Phelps, then hung up. My stomach growled, told me it was time to pick Lou
up.

+++

I walked out the door and was able to brush the snow
from Lightning. I heard a noise behind me and turned to encounter the yippie
dog from next door, standing on a piece of cardboard to protect her from the
snow. I looked around, but didn’t see an ugly woman anywhere. Could it be that
the varmint had had enough of the wicked witch and wanted me to take him with
me? I looked around for a leash to tie to the back bumper, but the blinding
light of the snow kept me from seeing one. Maybe I could put one of my floor
mats on top of the car and let the rat ride there. I put an end to my unkind
thoughts when I envisioned God’s hand about to strike me down.

I spent so much time thinking about the mangy mutt,
that I failed to hear crunching footsteps in the snow. I turned just as a
snowball rebounded off my coat.

“Miss Humphert, haven’t I told you that it’s not a
good idea to surprise a policeman with a gun?”

“But I don’t have a gun.”

“No, but I do.”

“You’re right, Cyrus. I should’ve crept up behind you
and wrapped my arms around yours, so you couldn’t draw your gun.”

“Miss Humphert, couldn’t you just slither back home?”

“Oh, Cyrus, you’re so funny. What do you think about
Twinkle Toes? I told her if she kept you from leaving before I got back that I
would give her a doggie treat.”

“Now that I’m on to your game, I must set out some rat
poison. Maybe some bear traps, too.”

“Oh, Cyrus. Must you talk so cruel in front of my baby?
Remember how much she loves you? Remember the other night when you fell and she
licked your nose?”

“I remember, Miss Humphert. The doctor says I’ll have
to have six more treatments before it heals. But enough of this chitchat. There
are murderers running loose. I must leave now, so they’ll feel safe enough to
commit hari-kari in this neighborhood.”

+++

As I drove to the Blue Moon, I filled Lou in on what
I’d learned so far that morning, and asked him for his thoughts.

“Well, Cy, the only thing that sounds logical is that
either Longworth or Antoine committed the murders and then hired that plumber
to make tracks to your house and more tracks out of town. That’s probably what
Phelps was thinking about when he said he’d come into some money. Someone paid
him to do a job and skip town. He’s the logical choice to do it. He has no ties
to this town, and probably has no ties to anyone in it.”

“For some reason I don’t believe that all this ties up
that neatly. For instance, let’s take Longworth. Why would Longworth want to do
away with all these actors if he plans to produce and direct plays at the inn?
It doesn’t make sense. And why would he take a chance on being implicated? He
seems to have everything his way right now. Now, let’s take that chef, Antoine.
He might still hold a grudge because of his brother’s death, but where does he
come up with the money to pay off this Phelps guy?”

“Cy, top chefs make top dollar. Besides, if he’s the
guy behind all of this, it gives him a chance to get even with the actors and
with Longworth. Either by closing Longworth down or implicating him.”

“But he could do all this by staying away. If he
hadn’t shown up at the inn, it’s possible that he’d get away with it and we’d
never know anything about him.”

“But someone who would do something like this and
leave you the type of note he left you would be the same kind of guy who’d want
to be there when Longworth goes down.”

“I think that Longworth has enough money to ride this
out. Only the long shot of his being convicted of murder would take him down.”

“Well, we can always check out Longworth’s bank account
to make sure.”

“We’ll do just that, Lou. But first I want to check
out the food at the Blue Moon.”

“Cy, you’re forgetting the message for the day.”

“That I am, Lou. This case really has me so baffled I
can’t think straight. So, what is it?”

“They drive by night.”