by J. R. Ripley
I fell too.
That’s how science works. My chin struck the top of the chair. It was a good thing it was well padded. Nonetheless, I was seeing stars for the second time that night, and both times I had been indoors.
I studied the pile of rubble that was once Gar’s chair. Now my chair. So at least I wouldn’t have to pay for the damages.
Overhead, the bear continued to mock me.
But I was determined to get the best of him.
I retrieved the grabber tool from the sofa where I had earlier tossed it.
I waved it at him. “You’re mine now, bear!”
I thrust the grabber upward, placing the tongs on either side of the bear’s snout. I squeezed the handle and pulled gently.
I expected something of a fight. Bears can be stubborn. Besides, the head looked heavy. Instead, to my surprise, it came down quite easily. It had been hung on the wall with a metal hook, not nailed or screwed into the logs.
The bear’s head wasn’t stuffed at all. In fact, the trophy head was completely hollowed out inside and was supported by what seemed to be a fiberglass cast.
“No wonder you couldn’t talk.” A dark leather-bound book was stuffed in the bear’s snout. “And here I thought you were just being rude.”
Was I looking at Gar’s story slash diary?
I set the trophy head on the busted chair and peered at the book. It was about an inch or two thick and maybe five by seven inches in size. It had a cover of cobalt-blue lizard skin. Fake, I hoped. I’d never seen a lizard that blue, except in cartoons.
I poured myself a glass of lukewarm water from the kitchen tap and carried it to the table. I fetched a candle from the shelf and set it on the table for extra light.
I unsnapped the leather clasp and carefully opened the book. I flipped through the lined, yellowed pages. The ink was deep blue. Each page was filled with Gar’s tight, small handwriting.
I began at the beginning.
The title on the first page was a doozy. And it caught me by surprise.
What Happened to Warren?
Gar’s prose was dark, rambling, and sometimes raving. He told a tale about what had happened the night Warren Calhoun disappeared from sight. If not what happened, his suspicions of what might have happened.
And it was chilling.
Maybe an hour later, my glass empty, my throat parched, my head throbbing, I leaned back in the hard wooden chair. Gar believed that somebody at Webber’s Pond had murdered Warren Calhoun.
He wasn’t quite sure who. He suspected the newcomer, Ross Barnswallow. As for why, well, that was a surprise too.
According to Gar, Ross was likely having an affair with one of their neighbors: Madeline Bell, of all people. Stiff, stodgy, and oh-so-prim and oh-so-proper Madeline Bell.
Was it possible?
Gar also had a hunch where the body was buried. It seems the old stables over on Yvonne’s property had burned down in a forest fire and been rebuilt right around the time that Warren went missing.
A deer track ran through the woods at the back of Webber’s Pond and heading in the general direction of Yvonne’s property. Folks in the area often used it to travel from their homes to the old Stenson homestead, which Yvonne had purchased and which now belonged to her brother.
That was where Gar had found the wristwatch two days after Kay had reported Warren missing, half-buried in the undergrowth.
Gar was certain the watch belonged to Warren, but he had kept the find a secret from Kay, because of her already fragile mental state.
Could what Gar suggested be true? Could Warren Calhoun be buried somewhere under that foundation?
I massaged my neck while my little gray cells went into overdrive. The myriad pieces of this thousand-piece puzzle were beginning to come together. Not all, but enough to see the general picture.
Gar’s theory would explain Yvonne’s murder. She had said she was going to tear those stables down. That meant there was a good chance that Kay’s missing husband’s body would be found.
I had a hunch of my own as I played over what I knew about both Yvonne and now Gar’s death. Gar didn’t know what I knew. He couldn’t have known, and not knowing had likely cost him his life.
I knew who the killer was.
The front door opened. The candle on the table flickered.
But it wasn’t Ross Barnswallow who let himself in.
31
“Hi, Amy. I saw the light on.”
“Hello, Murray.”
I saw a sliver of silvery moon as he moved inside and shut the door behind him.
I slid the blue lizard-skin book off the table and wedged it between my thigh and the seat of my chair.
Murray Arnold took a long stride toward the broken chair in the corner with the bear’s head on top of the heap. “What happened?”
While his head was turned, I took my eyes off him just long enough to slip Gar’s book into my purse, which was lying at my feet.
“Whoever trashed this place must have yanked the trophy head off the wall. Don’t ask me why. And busted the chair in the process,” I said.
“But—”
“Yes?”
“But I can’t imagine who might have wanted to burgle the home of a dead man.” Murray picked up a couple of books near the fireplace and set them sideways on the shelf. His eyes moved upward, but if he noticed the gap in the fireplace rocks, he didn’t show it. “It’s so disrespectful, senseless.”
Murray straightened the sofa, its legs scraping the floor and sending a chill up my back. “I’ll bet it was those kids that Madeline says have been hanging around.” He turned to me. “What do you think?”
“I think it has been a long day.” I stood, stretched and yawned. “I was just about to lock up.” I picked up my purse and slung it over my shoulder.
“It’s been a very long day,” Murray agreed. He moved toward the front door. “But I don’t think you should leave just yet.”
Murray reached into his right-hand coat pocket and pulled out something shiny. He extended his arm. From his fingers dangled a watch, a busted watch.
My eyes flew to the mantel where I had left it. Gone.
Murray knew!
I flew for the door. I was fast, but Murray was faster and closer.
He threw himself against the door and spread his arms. “I don’t think so, Amy.”
I trembled.
The jig, as they say, was up.
“It was you, wasn’t it, Murray? You did this.” I waved my arms at the mess. “After you murdered Gar.”
Murray was shaking his head. “You can’t prove that. You can’t prove anything. In fact,” he took a step toward me, “you won’t even get the chance.”
I jumped to the other side of the sofa and grabbed the reacher tool. I waved it in front of his nose. He made a snatch for it. I hit him in the arm.
“Damn!” He rubbed his upper arm. “You’ll pay for that.”
I had no doubt that I would if he had any say in the matter.
“Where did you find the watch?” Murray was smiling, which made him appear all the scarier. “That was very resourceful of you. I turned this place upside down looking for it.”
“You knew about the watch?”
“Not until I saw it on the mantel. I recognized it immediately. Warren never went anywhere without it. Well,” Murray stroked his chin, “except his final resting spot, apparently.” He chuckled. “Kay said he even wore it to bed.”
“It was hidden in the stones above the fireplace.”
Murray nodded. “And the notebook?”
“What notebook are you talking about?”
Murray’s eyes flared, and he lunged toward me. I moved out of reach behind the table. “Don’t toy with me, Amy!” He took a deep breath and said more calmly, “I do not like bein
g toyed with. I know you found the notebook, and I want it.” He held out his hand. “Now!”
I gulped. “It’s in my purse.”
“Bring it out, and give it to me. Slowly.”
I threw my purse at his face, turned, and dashed for the kitchen door.
Murray howled and followed in close pursuit. My fingers fumbled with the chain on the door. Murray grabbed my shoulder and spun me around. I kicked him high between the legs.
It wasn’t a direct hit, but close enough. He howled and let go.
I ran to the kitchen. Murray tackled me and pulled me to my feet. We were both breathing hard. I leaned over, hands on my thighs.
“Please, Murray,” I begged. “Give it up. Haven’t enough people died?”
Murray’s unshaved face was mottled purple. He threw open the kitchen drawers one after another until finding something to his liking.
What he liked was a serrated knife with a wooden handle and a nasty-looking tip. “Let’s go.”
He jabbed. I moved.
“Pick it up.” He gestured at my purse on the floor, its contents spilling half out. The blue-skinned book was visible. “Is that the book?”
I nodded.
“Hand it to me.”
Seeing that I had no choice, I did.
Murray grunted. He clumsily flipped through Gar’s book while training the knife on me with his other hand. “Gar. The fool told everybody that he knew what happened to Warren. That one of us killed him. And that he knew who it was and where he was buried. Bragged that he had written it all down and hidden it where no one would ever find it. He said that if anything ever happened to him, the truth would come out.”
“He was bluffing,” I said. “He thought it was Ross.”
Murray snorted. “That loser? I wouldn’t count on him to give a cockroach the heel of his boot.”
“But it was you.”
There was a prolonged silence but for our breathing.
“Yes, it was me. What made you suspect?”
“I didn’t,” I admitted. “Until I read that.” I pointed to Gar’s tale of Warren’s disappearance. “Then it all came together. The housewarming party. I am murdered. Kay’s seemingly crazy ramblings. She told me the Devil or the Lord of Death or something pushed Gar into Webber’s Pond.”
“What? You don’t believe in evil spirits?”
“No. I believe in evil people.” I slowly maneuvered myself to the side of the sofa. “Clever of you to write I am murdered instead of You are murdered.”
“That would have been rather obvious, don’t you think?” Murray’s eyes never left me.
“What Kay saw on the dock the other night was you.” I waved my finger up and down. “Wearing that. The burgundy pea coat. That red hat on your head. She probably got a pretty good look at both under the lights at the end of the dock.” Each dock had a pair of overhead lights at the end on tall metal poles.
“Ross has a similar hat and a not-so-dissimilar coat.”
“Yes, but he has a distinctive limp. Kay told me she saw the Lord of Death running down the dock, pushing Gar in his wheelchair. That leaves only you, Murray. You pushed Gar Samuelson into Webber’s Pond. You killed him.”
“Very clever, Amy. Gar said you were clever.” He stroked his chin some more. “Too clever, really.”
“You probably shot Yvonne, too.”
“Why would I do that?” As he talked, he pulled a pair of leather gloves from his coat and slipped them on.
“Because she was going to tear down the stables, and you couldn’t let that happen. Because that was where you had buried Kay’s husband, wasn’t it?”
Murray smiled. “Like I said, you are clever.”
“Yvonne told us what she planned to do with the stables. The contractor was scheduled to come the very next day. What if he started digging around?”
I was babbling, but at least I was breathing.
Murray quietly flexed his fingers.
“So you murdered her. But things didn’t work out, did they? You overhead Lani in the diner saying that he was going through with the project after all. What I don’t understand is, why kill Gar? Why not kill Lani?”
“Gar was getting too curious. Snooping around. The whole episode had been dead and buried for years. Yvonne’s murder had stirred him up again.
“I was afraid that sooner or later he would figure things out. Maybe even guess where the body was buried. I couldn’t let that happen. I couldn’t let him tell anybody. I was afraid he might have said something to you.
“As for Lani, I figured I could handle him the same way I handled his sister, if it came to that. I do what I have to do, Amy.
“I was hoping to make this look like an accident.” He dropped the knife on the table. “But maybe it’s better you disappear.” Murray slid a handgun from inside his coat and aimed it at me. “Nothing personal.”
I held up my hands. “Wait. Murray, please.”
Murray shook his head.
“At least tell me how all this started. Why murder Warren?” It was the one thing that still made no sense. What had been at the root of this whole sordid tale?
“I’m surprised you haven’t figured it out.” Murray lowered his arm ever so slightly. “I loved her.”
“Kay?”
“No!” Murray’s scream frightened me. He slammed his empty fist against the wall. “Not Kay! Madeline. I was in love with Madeline.”
“I-I still don’t understand.”
Murray wiped the spit from his lips. “Don’t you see, Amy?”
I shook my head no and inched my way a step farther from him. He was losing control.
“I was in love with Madeline. I still am. I always will be. But she loved him!”
My thoughts were flying furiously. “You mean Warren?”
Murray jerked his head up and down. “They had an affair. It was disgusting. The two of them, right under Kay’s nose. Madeline deserved better than him. And Kay deserved better than having a lowlife, cheating husband. I confronted Warren. He laughed at me. Every day he laughed at me.”
Murray began pacing. I moved closer to the front door, my hand stretching backward, fishing blindly for the metal handle. “I hated that man. Madeline deserved better.” He thumped his chest with the muzzle of his weapon. “I could have given her everything.”
“I’m sure—”
“Kay deserved better, too.” With his free hand, he picked up the rock I had extracted from the wall over the mantel. He hurled it at a glass-covered photograph of Gar and Pep on the wall.
I flinched as the glass shattered and flew across the room. “Does Madeline know?”
“That I strangled Warren? No. I’m sure she suspects, though.”
I wondered why she had never come forward with her suspicions, but love and friendship sometimes lead to strange behaviors.
“Finally, I had had enough. I confronted Warren at the edge of the woods one night. He was on his way back home to Kay from Madeline’s house. I cursed him and begged him to stop.
He laughed at me again, like he always did. I strangled him with these.” He looked at his hands.
“I used Gar’s electric cart to move the body to the stables. I wrapped him in a tarp, dropped it in a deep hole prepared for the foundation, and covered it with gravel. The next day, it was buried under several feet of concrete.”
“And Warren’s watch?”
“When I was wrapping him in the tarp, I saw the pale markings on his skin and realized the watch was missing. I went back and looked for it with a flashlight but couldn’t find it. Several times, I continued searching for it, but I never found it. I had almost forgotten it until tonight.”
“Kay must have seen you and Warren arguing. She said she saw the Lord of Death the night her husband went away.”
“Poor Kay.”
Murray actually sounded like he meant it. How twisted had the man become—all because of his love of a woman he could not possess?
“There is still something I don’t understand. Both Madeline and Kay told the police they were with you at the time Yvonne was shot. Why would they lie for you?”
“They were with me, as far as they knew,” Murray replied. “I spiked their drinks with a quick-acting sleeping medication. It only took me five minutes to drive to Yvonne’s house. I let myself in. I shot her before she even knew what was happening.” He sounded almost proud of what he had done.
“But she telephoned nine-one-one.”
“Did she?” Murray replied in a surprisingly falsetto voice.
“You called the police from her phone to give yourself an alibi for the time of the murder. Where’s the phone now, at the bottom of Webber’s Pond?”
Murray jerked the handgun at me. “Why don’t you tell me? You’ll be there yourself soon enough.”
32
The blaring of a loud horn split the air.
Murray turned toward the window and tugged at the curtains.
I ran for the door and threw it open. He was going to kill me, so I had nothing to lose if he shot me in the back rather than the front.
Pep leapt through the air. Murray fired. A loud bang filled the air, followed by a deep growl and continuous barking. I glanced over my shoulder. Pep was tugging at Murray’s trousers. Murray struck the dog in the head, knocking the poor animal toward the fireplace.
I slammed the door and tumbled down the wheelchair ramp leading from the front door and raced to my van. Murray was on my heels.
I tripped on the front tire and threw out my arms. Something dark whooshed past my ears.
I covered my head and cried out.
I heard two gunshots, maybe more, and scrambled to my feet. I grabbed the door of the van and threw it open. There was no key ring dangling from the ignition.
Just my luck, the one time I remembered to take my keys out of the van, I could have used them. But no, the keys were in my purse, and my purse was in Gar’s cabin. Murray was between them and me.