by Doug Lutz
Grandma blushed. “Doc Jones was right. He stopped by yesterday and on the spur of the moment mentioned the arm wrestling contest. He took me so much by surprise, I almost passed out choking on my tea. When I came to, I was already in the ambulance, looking at my granddaughter.”
The more–than–embarrassed police captain responded to all the suppositions being bantered about. “Well, I wanted to ask. I should have just asked.”
“I’m available now, if you want to ask again. Who knows? I might even say yes. Or, is there someone here who would like to arm wrestle Captain Larson for their own opportunity?”
Hearing no takers to Velma’s challenge, I finished the evening by closing the noose on the culprit. “Grandma, they were just boys being boys. Us girls, we have a certain ability to make them say and do stupid things. Don’t we?”
I glared right at Parker.
“After the good captain secures a comfortable cell in the town jail for Mrs. Warren, perhaps Velma and J.B. would consider a date back at my café for a piece of chocolate chip cheesecake?”
Grandma smiled at the senior police officer. “You have led a life half–lived, J.B., harboring a secret like that. Why don’t we see what we can do about that later? Wouldn’t you agree that a slice of cheesecake sounds like a great way to end this culinary contest, too? What do you think, James?” This was the first time anyone had heard the police captain addressed by his given name.
“I’d be happy to join you, Velma. And I hope we can mend the fence between us.”
“We need not fix any fence, James. We need to pull it up from the ground and get rid of it. Just come in and sit down with me.”
20
I hated to interrupt the love fest, but there was still one bit of unfinished business. “This is just great. I think you two will make a lovely couple. But in the meantime, Parker, would you mind stopping the killer? She seems to be escaping.”
Officer Parker Williams sprang into action, only to meet face–to–face with the culprit’s two–shot Derringer, which she had been hiding inside a fake battery pack on her belt.
“I only wanted to kill one person and ended up sticking the wrong guy. No one make me add another notch to the old belt here.” She turned to the crowd of judges, all standing motionless at the sight of a firearm. “And that includes updating your Facebook page. I better not see any cell phones at all.”
No one had expected gunplay. The woman backed away, reverse baby–stepping her way to the door leading to lobby and the open hatch of her equipment van. Her small pistol never wavered, its barrel pointed at Parker.
Before she disappeared, she barked a few final orders. “Captain, disassemble your own weapon and take the kid’s piece, too. Break them both down to the firing pins and toss those across the room. Guns are dangerous, you know.”
The metal firing pins made a ping–pang sound as they hit the tile floor on the far side of the stage. A glint of brightness came and went as the two most essential parts of the handguns disappeared under a row of seats. The woman flicked the barrel of her pistol at the table.
“Cuffs next. Put them bracelets on the kid there.”
Another judge was told to handcuff the Captain and then toss the key over to the killer. Though three people searched Parker, his key was nowhere to be found.
Feeling much more secure in maintaining her freedom, the woman backed herself through the door and into the lobby. The clip clop of her running feet grew distant as she made it to her getaway van, the back hatch closing with a slam. As I ran toward Parker, we could hear the woman cranking the engine.
“Don’t worry, Parker. She won’t get far without these.” I opened my clutch and produced a set of spark plug wires. A timely Internet search earlier had told me how to disable the van—a preventative measure I thought might come in handy later. And now it was later.
A few of the judges combed the aisles, picking up pieces of the two semiautomatics. One lady even reassembled them. These judges were more than they appeared. I asked if any had a spare handcuff key in their purses, but alas, it was not to be.
The crashing sound coming from the pantry area caught everyone’s attention. Someone, or something, had just upset a pile of sauté pans. As soon as I saw the calico flash zip by Drake and come to a stop between my legs, the mystery was solved.
“Tinkers! What are you doing here?” I asked, not expecting an answer from a stray cat. As I picked her up, I noticed something caught in her collar.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” I announced, “it seems our good cat–about–town, Tinkers, has just saved the day.”
Using two fingers, I removed the missing handcuff key from the cat’s collar. “Parker, do you remember when Tinkers climbed up your one pant leg and then down the other, when you first came to the Cat and Fiddle? Intentional or not, Tinkers ended up with your handcuff key. Probably snagged by her collar and ripped right off your belt. Really, you should be more careful where you put that key. Anyway, here we are!”
Moments later, and thanks to the Seaview Police Department’s handcuff keys being universal, the duo was free to apprehend the woman as she was trying to start the engine of another car in the parking lot. She had become so mad at the van engine’s failure, she never noticed that she had left her gun on the passenger seat. Parker saw the unattended weapon and grabbed it before she knew what had happened. Captain Larson dragged her out of the car, most appropriately by the collar.
Parker led the woman back, this time with his cuffs on the proper set of wrists. Without the aid of a reference card, the beaming young officer read the Miranda rights to his suspect.
Captain Larson announced that his new protégé would take the lead working with the VCID in finding Warren. “This young man is a fine example of the quality police officers we have here in Seaview. Someday, he may even be the Captain.”
The charged atmosphere of the moment was broken when Larson started a sneezing fit. Little beads of sweat formed on his forehead and cheeks. He caught a break between sneezes and said, “Man, for some reason I can’t seem to stop tearing up in here. Must be the stage lights.”
Seeing the Captain in minor distress, I asked, “Mr. Grimsby, could we borrow a tissue? I think you have some in your desk, as I recall.”
As Grimsby went to unlock his desk and retrieve a handkerchief, I stopped Parker for a moment and pointed out a little piece of fluff on his prisoner’s blouse.
“Parker, I think if you go to your suspect’s home in Richmond, you will find the main accomplice taking care of their cat. By the way, Captain Larson, are you allergic to cats?”
“How did you know?”
“I can see the cat fur on her clothing from here. I thought it was a twittle, a spare thread or something, but your instant sniffling told me otherwise. I figured it had to be either cat fur or possibly her perfume. I saw something on her blouse and just took a guess. And now with Tinkers wandering about, it just made sense.”
“But the husband,” Tricia said. “How did you connect the guy in Miami, now her husband, with the contact in Richmond?”
“That was easy,” I said. “George had mentioned his wife had left him for an executive she had met at the South Beach Food and Wine Festival in Miami. It’s no secret that the biggest food service companies would be there, and that would include our beloved sponsor, MegaFood, Incorporated. Do you remember what was on the envelope of cash you gave to Francine?”
“I remember the envelope, but there wasn’t anything written on it. It was blank.”
“There may not have been any words printed on it, but the envelope did provide a few very visible clues. First off, it was a number 9–sized business envelope. Those are typically used as return envelopes, since they fit nicely into the even more standard number 10 envelope.”I could see most everyone was still trying to figure out the importance of the envelope’s size. Tricia, on the other hand, knew. It was time to press forward and put a few people on the spot.
“Once the job fair
we were planning had gone off without a hitch, and my time supposedly taken up by the whole affair, you, Tricia, were probably directed to take the cash and, using the envelope, return a newspaper article proving you did as you were asked. Isn’t that what Mr. Warren wanted you to do?”
Not waiting for an answer, I put down the spoon and opened my portfolio and pulled out the actual envelope. “Since there was no address on it, the man assumed you would be at the next major job fair. He could then put your envelope into a number 10 and mail it off to his superior. Why risk being seen together so close to a crime scene when you can use the good old postal service and a stamp to make the final payoff?”
“Tricia, why did you do all of this?” Francine was torn between her renewed friendship with me and her reclaimed relationship with Tricia. “I mean, I understand the blackmail part of it, but why did you give me the cash when you left?”
The guilt of hurting Francine was too much for Tricia. I could see she was struggling with words, trying to find the right ones. With the tension so thick you would need a chainsaw to cut your way through it, I came up with an answer that would hopefully defuse the situation.
“Tricia, that’s why you gave Fran the cash, right? You decided it would be better if you left her rather than hurt anyone else. You thought the mobsters would follow you and leave Fran alone.”
Tricia started nodding her head, letting me know I wasn’t too far off–base with my assumption. She turned toward her partner, finally admitting, “Fran, I love you. I never wanted to leave you, but it was the only way I could guarantee you would be secure in your future. That man threatened to expose our relationship to all of our clients. We’d never work again.”
“It’s all right,” Francine said, giving her woman a bear hug. “When it comes to love, it always works out. We will just have to play this out to the end and see where we end up. Maybe we aren’t destined to have a business in D.C. Maybe we are just supposed to be us, living wherever we can be happy. And we could always open a pizza shop.”
“Trust me,” I said, “I know about changing plans and chasing happiness.” I wiggled my ring finger, shining the glint of my college ring at the two women. “There remains, however, the matter of identifying the company that funded all of this deception. Check out the embossed watermark on that envelope. Two diamonds, offset laterally about 30 percent. Had we seen the full–color version of this logo, we would have easily seen that the logo is blue and red, with the blue lines forming a very angular version of the letter M.”
“Ahem, could someone please take me to jail so I can call a lawyer instead of listening to little Miss Marple here?”
Someone was getting tired of being handcuffed.
Parker sat his prisoner down in a chair. Captain Larson took the envelope and examined it carefully. Finally, he searched for the image using his own phone. We could all tell by his expression when he had found the answer.
“I bet you already know the answer, Miss Kepler. And now I can see it right here.” The Captain had picked up a can from one of the cooking stations. On the back of the label, in small print at the bottom, was the pointy M logo with the words MegaFood—Bringing Health and Prosperity to the World printed underneath.
He tossed the can in the air, flipping it so it landed with the label facing me. A man with flair; Parker should take note.
I could only agree with the officer. “So it was a leap in faith on my part, but I made the assumption that if a woman was so intent on ruining a man’s life, she would go to the great lengths we have witnessed here. She would certainly not take a chance on having someone she didn’t trust do her dirty work. Her husband was the only logical answer. If you ask me, the poor man will probably enjoy the separation prison life will bring to him.”
The killer spoke in her own defense. “I may be going away for a while, but that man will soon realize how good he had it. I’ve got plans for him.” I, for one, was glad she was still in handcuffs. Unpredictable, this one was.
“Winnie, you did a marvelous job solving the murder,” Grimsby said in full suck–up mode. “With this woman on the way to jail, we can all rest comfortably and get on with the show. I don’t know how to thank you enough. But, you know? I have an idea. I’ll write a glowing account of today’s events for the newspapers, and I’ll give you a prominent role in the story. What do you think?”
I thought Grimsby needed to be more careful about what he asked for. “Oh, Mr. Grigsby, I mean Grillsby, or whatever, I think the statement this woman is about to write will tell more than any tale you could imagine. And I do mean any, sir.”
“What?” Grimsby protested, “I had nothing to do with any crime. Your grandmother Velma can, and should, be charged with evading police and obstructing justice. After all, she gave them all the slip the other night.”
Then something unexpected happened. Parker straightened his collar and pointed his finger into the middle of Grimsby’s chest, pushing him back a bit.
“Not so fast, Grimsby,” Parker said. “I never actually put her under arrest. I had no warrant. Until the warrant could be produced, she was free to go about her business. Thusly, no charges can be made now.”
Parker gave his boss a sheepish look. “Except possibly against the Captain, for fibbing a little to push the warrant through in the first place.”
It was time for me to save a little face on all sides. “But honesty is always the best policy, Parker. Thanks for bringing up the business about the warrant, but I think the VCID will decline to pursue those charges since there were such extenuating circumstances. I am sure the matter will be referred to the mayor for action, if any; and with enough support from his troops, I bet Captain Larson will come out with his badge still shining.”
A relieved Parker Williams gave his boss a verbal boost of confidence. “No worries here, Winnie. The Captain will be just fine. I guarantee it.”
Captain Larson was given the honor of leading the killer away to the squad car. Parker—or as I should call him in public at least, Officer Williams—was now the only local law enforcement on the scene. He needed to take over control of the scene like a champ.
But poor Parker was still a little unsure of himself, and clearly uncomfortable with a roomful of eyes staring at him as they waiting for his next command.
Like a new teacher trying to not look foolish in front of his students, he led the entire crowd out to the front steps of the building, so we could witness the killer being carted away. In a heartbeat, he handed the conversation’s lead back to me.
“Miss Kepler, why don’t you show us how Mrs. Warren managed to kill Pierre in front of everyone, including the cameras.”
“Excellent thought, Officer Williams. You know, one of the concepts my parents love to think about when they are on a case, especially when it’s a locked–room type of mystery, is to look for the invisible person.”
“Invisible person, yes, of course,” Parker said nonchalantly, as if he understood what I was talking about. “Remind me again, please. How do you see a person who is invisible?”
“It’s not that they are truly invisible, Parker. It’s a figure of speech. But there are all kinds of people we see every day, but we never notice them. The mail carriers, the plumbing repair guy, the taxi driver. Even the boy throwing newspapers each morning. They are always there. Of course, we do notice when they are not there, but while they are working? You probably couldn’t say what color boat they were driving.”
“Winnie, we haven’t had a paper newspaper thrown in this town for over ten years, thanks to the Internet,” Parker said.
“Analogy, Parker. Come now, keep up.”
I pulled out my cell phone and opened the Internet browser, checking the online version of the Seaview Times Herald. “To your point, though, so I see. Perhaps a poor example. Anyway, as the investigation went on, I stood back and asked myself, Who are the invisible people here?”
“And as it turns out, there were many. First, and most obvious, we had the ju
dges. They were all very well–known and highly respected churchgoing, upstanding citizens. But, they were never on the stage, so they had no opportunity to murder Pierre.”
“The chefs, and even Drake, they’re not invisible,” Parker said. “Not at all. So who is left?”
Finally, one of the judges started to raise her hand, asking to be called on for the answer. It wasn’t like she was the obnoxious kid in school who always knew the answer. She was one of the few introverts in the bunch, sitting off to the side hoping not to be noticed.
“Yes, ma’am? Your thoughts?” I asked.
“The cameraman. She’s the only one left?”
From the back seat of the Captain’s sedan, a handcuffed woman yelled out a snarky: “That would be camerawoman, thank you very much. Didn’t we already have this conversation? Doesn’t anyone listen to me? Idiots, all of you!”
Captain Larson pushed the window control, lifting the pane up as his prisoner kept trying to get the last word. As the car pulled away from the loading dock, we could all hear the woman’s final, muffled clamor.
The woman’s diatribe was still audible as she pressed her face against the inside of the window glass. “I don’t know what you are talking about. I’m just a technician who made the mistake of hiring on for this stupid contest. I should have stayed in the mall, taking pictures of crying babies. And they don’t whine as much as you people. You’ve got no proof. I want a lawyer! I should have killed you all!”
21
As the squad car sped off, Parker regained control of the scene. “Well, that’s that, I guess. Winnie, you were saying?”
“Yes. Excellent work, Officer Williams. Anyhow, as I was saying, Mrs. Warren was indeed the only other person everyone tended to ignore. She moved about the crime scene with impunity. By setting the cameras to operate without the need for anyone to be at the controls, she was able to leave her post and kill Pierre.”