by Tracey Quinn
“I don't know yet; do you know if Troy Belcher had any family around here? Maybe a brother?”
“He did have a brother,” Laurie cut in. “I remember him. He came to the house while Kitty was in the hospital giving birth to Timmy. Kitty's parents were at the hospital too, and I was at the house alone tidying it up so that it would be nice when they came back with the baby. They had left early in the morning and we hadn't heard about Lloyd getting arrested the night before yet. Suddenly I heard this pounding on the door and someone was shouting. I peeked through the blinds and saw him. He was like....” She gave a shudder.
“Like a grizzly bear in overalls?” I asked.
“Yes, that sums him up perfectly! Have you seen him then?”
“He was at the Breezy Spoon the morning before Lloyd was killed. He seemed like the kind of guy that might be capable of violence.”
“You're right about that,” Laurie agreed. “I remember the way he was beating on the door and shouting for Lloyd to come out. He was saying he'd kill him. I was pretty frightened and I started to call the police, but then the sheriff's car pulled up out in front of the house. The deputies made the man leave, and then they knocked on the door. That was when I learned that Lloyd was under arrest for killing a man in a bar, and the deputies told me that the man at the door was the dead man's brother.”
“If he's back in town then me might have been looking for Lloyd again,” Kitty said. “Do you think he could have killed him?”
“It's possible,” I replied. “I'd like to talk to him and see what I can find out about him.”
“Or you could tell Bob about him,” Tammy said. “That way the sheriff could talk to him, and that's probably the safest way to handle this.”
“Oh, I've already talked to Bob; they're going to 'check out every angle',” I grumbled. “He wasn't too interested in my theories.”
“I still don't like the idea of you talking to this Belcher person; if he's a killer, he won't be happy to be questioned about the murder, and that could be dangerous for you.”
“Yes, you should stay away from him,” Laurie agreed. “I don't want you to get yourself hurt trying to help Gene.”
“Don't worry about me,” I said. “I know what I'm doing.” I could have added, “Also I have no idea of where to find Belcher, and I don't even know if he's still in town,” but I thought it might make the part where I said I know what I'm doing sound less convincing.
On my way home, my cellphone rang and I saw that it was Mark. When I answered he said, “Hey, babe. I got a call from the firehouse that someone reported a fire at one of the houses by the lake, so I won't be home when you get there.”
“I'm surprised I haven't gotten a call from Charlene yet telling me that the lake monster has started breathing fire.”
“Give it time. Charlene never lets us down. Anyway, I wanted to tell you not to worry about the bullet hole in the mailbox.”
“Wait, what? There's a bullet hole in the mailbox?!”
“Yeah, Alistair Coleman shot it from his upstairs window across the street. His older brother Clarence said that since Alistair has turned 88 he sometimes gets reckless. It seems that in the wee hours of the morning Alistair heard some sounds outside and when he went out to see what it was he saw a raccoon trying to get into their trash bin. He said it was foaming at the mouth so he's sure it was rabid. Since it was eating the garbage it's more likely that it had food around its mouth, but either way, Alistair got his shotgun and has been watching from his window to shoot it if it comes back. Apparently he dozed off after a couple of hours but a hissing sound woke him up and when he looked out the window he thought he saw the raccoon on top of our mailbox so he shot at it.”
“The raccoon was on top of our mailbox and it was hissing so loudly that Alistair could hear him inside his house across the street?” I asked.
“No, the hissing was a tea kettle,” Mark replied. “Clarence was making tea. Green tea with lemon and ginseng, I think he said. Good for energy or something like that.”
“Well, at least Alistair got rid of the rabid raccoon.”
“Actually there was no sign that he shot anything other than the mailbox. He said he'll pay for a new one once he gets down to the bank on Monday. Oh, and also the Jameson sisters stopped by to visit and talk; I told them I had to leave but you'd be home soon so they'll be waiting for you. Love you! Bye!”
“Mark! Wait!” It was too late. The dirty weasel had hung up the phone.
Heather and Helen Jameson are our next-door neighbors; they're sweet old ladies but they can talk the ears off an elephant. Even with all the competition in town, the Jameson sisters hold the title for the biggest gossips in East Spoon Creek City. They even used to babysit Charlene when she was little, and taught her everything they knew.
I had planned to search online for information about Troy Belcher's brother when I got home, but thanks to Mark palming Helen and Heather off on me, it would have to wait. It's a good thing for him that he wasn't going to be there. He might have ended up in an onion crate.
Chapter 7
As soon as I got in the front door I could see that the Jameson sisters had wasted no time making themselves at home. A pot of tea had been brewed and was sitting on the coffee table alongside some little homemade candies they had brought with them, which looked like they were covered in either molasses or motor oil.
“I'm glad to see that you made it home in one piece,” Helen said to me. At least, I think it was Helen; the sisters are twins and I've never quite been able to tell them apart. “One never knows what will happen, what with all the violence in town nowadays.”
“Well Helen, Dani knows it all too well, seeing as she's been a victim of the crime wave herself,” Heather said.
“I don't think Alistair shooting the mailbox counts as a crime wave,” I said.
“It's just the latest in a long line,” Helen replied. “First that nice Dr. Griffin had his bumper all dented in by a hit and run driver, and then the bank was robbed, and of course there was that poor man who was murdered. One doesn't feel safe walking down the street anymore!”
I thought that the chances of the person who robbed the bank and killed Lloyd Duval hanging around our street to take potshots at old ladies was pretty slim, but I supposed it was best not to say that. Instead I said, “Oh, look at the time. It's getting late. I'd hate to have you ladies walk home after dark seeing as there's all this crime around. Maybe we should take up this conversation on another day.”
“Oh, don't worry about that,” Heather said. “It's perfectly safe in here. This house used to be a safe house for the government. Did I ever tell you the story about that?”
Oh well, it was worth a try. Fortunately I was saved from hearing the safe house story for the tenth time by Helen, who said, “You know, that young man who was killed was going to run for mayor. We could use a new mayor in this town if you ask me; someone needs to do something about all this crime!”
“Well, now that Mayor Pumphrey's wife is back in town, maybe he won't be as 'distracted' with other matters, if you know what I mean,” Heather said, with a knowing glance toward me.
Actually, I didn't know what she meant at all. “What makes you say that?” I asked.
“You know what they say: 'when the cat's away, the mice will play,' and while Velma's been away, it seems that Mayor Pumprey has been doing a little playing. Tabitha was looking out her window-”
“You know Tabitha from the Needlework Club,” Helen cut in. “She lives right across the street from the Pumphreys. Well, just the other night-”
“This was the night that the poor young man was killed,” Heather interjected. “Tabitha was just getting ready to go to bed when she heard a car honk outside. Well, she went to see what was going on and there she sees Howard Pumphrey driving away from his house.”
“Howard is always honking his horn with his stomach by accident when he gets into his car, on account of him being a bit husky around the middle,”
Helen added. “Now Tabitha saw that he left the front door of his house open and the light on; you know how forgetful Howard can be.”
“Of course, this was after eight o'clock in the evening and Tabitha naturally thought Howard must be running a little errand and he'd come back soon, so there was no reason to bother about the door and the light,” Heather continued. “But then when she got up in the morning, what does she see but the door is still open and the light is still on!”
“He was out all night,” Helen said in a conspiratorial whisper, leaning close to me.
“Do you know where he went?” I asked.
“Well, Tabitha couldn't ask him, of course, but it's clear enough what was going on.”
Or maybe not, I thought. If Mayor Pumphrey was away from his house all night on the night Lloyd Duval was killed, he might have had a very different reason than the one the Jameson sisters had imagined. Maybe he knew like the rest of us that he was no match for Lloyd Duval in a debate and his fear of losing his office was enough to drive him to do something crazy. Or perhaps the scenario that Bob suggested was right, only it was Mayor Pumphrey, not Gene, who had gone to the rec center to confront Lloyd, only to find him breaking into the bank vault and the struggle over a gun had turned deadly. Whatever the case, I had some questions I wanted to ask the mayor!
Early the next morning I got into the Firebird and headed for the highway. It had taken me over an hour last night to finally extract myself from the clutches of the Jameson sisters, and I was almost nodding off to sleep by the time I sat down in front of my computer to search for information about Belcher.
I might just as well have fallen asleep, for I didn't find much of use; aside from a bunch of old articles from six years ago about Troy Belcher getting killed in the bar fight, there was no info about anyone named Belcher still living in the area. Either his brother hadn't done anything that Google found interesting enough to share with me, or he had moved somewhere else after Troy's death.
The fair was opening today and I had to work at the booth this morning, but first I was planning to swing by the Happy Rest Motor Lodge, a nice motel along the highway at the end of Old Bucket Road. It belonged to a friend of mine named Nick Havers, and it hadn't always been so nice; before Nick bought it the motel belonged to his wife's uncle Elmore. Elmore had named the hotel The Dry Bed Motel because of the dry creek bed behind the place (he thought it was funny), and had run the business into the ground over the years. The Dry Bed became notorious as a hangout for drunks, drug addicts, prostitutes and every sort of unsavory character that passed along the highway.
When Nick bought the place he not only changed its name, but changed its reputation, too. The Happy Rest Motor Lodge was a pleasant place for families and business travelers to stay, but every now and then he still had to run off a few sketchy characters who remembered the motel from the old days. I was hoping that one of those sketchy characters was named Belcher; if Belcher had come from out of town, the Happy Rest was the most likely place he would have found to stay. There were some fine little family-run bed-and-breakfasts in East Spoon Creek City, but the didn't seem very grizzly bear friendly so I didn't think Belcher was staying at any of them.
As I was driving I turned on the radio and found that, regrettably, the only station I could get was broadcasting The Dolly DuPoint Show, a call-in show in which Dolly gives advice about life and love to her callers. Apparently most of the local radio stations don't think there are enough consumers for their advertising to make it worth while to extend the signal to cover the 20 miles between East Spoon Creek City and Kettletown. They're probably right. Dolly was just finishing with a caller when I tuned in.
“And the best thing you can do for your marriage, Hector---”
“Excuse me, Miss DuPoint, my name is George.”
“No need to be nasty, I'm just trying to help you. Obviously you made a big mistake when you quit drinking. You say that because of your drinking you lost everything and it took you 12 years to get your wife, your children, your job and your house back, but I can tell from talking to you these last three minutes that you're uptight and no fun anymore. Take my advice and go ahead to your friend's bachelor party and get smashing drunk with the others. Convince your wife that you'll have more fun if you both get drunk together. Why, I can remember back when my brother and I were in pre-school how much fun it was to watch my parents drinking, falling over and breaking things. We used to laugh ourselves silly. Don't deprive your children of those precious moments, Claude. We missed those moments later when the police took my parents away and we went to live with our grandparents. Life was quite dull after that.”
“Uh, well, I think I'll stick with dull. Actually hearing your story did help me make up my mind,” the caller said before he hung up.
I was reaching over to turn off the radio when I heard a familiar voice.
“Thank you for taking my call. If you don't mind I'd like to use my initials M.F.”
Good Lord! Could it be? It was. Millie Farnsworth.
“Of course, M.F., everything you say to me will be kept confidential. I believe in patient/client privilege just like in a doctor's office. As a matter of fact, my husband is a doctor of sorts. He's a neurosurgeon. Maybe he didn't do enough studying to become a regular doctor. I'll have to ask him about that someday, but what can I help you with, my dear?”
“Well, there is this woman that I dislike---”
“The witch!” yelled Dolly. “You must destroy her, M.F.!”
“That's exactly what I thought!” said Millie. “You are so insightful, Miss Dupoint.”
“That's because I have a despicable, repulsive neighbor who is identical to the woman you just described. Last winter she actually called Child Protective Services because my twins built a snowman. It was a blizzard, for heavens' sake, no one was out driving anyhow and it was easier for them to build it in the middle of the street where the snowplow had cleared. After all, they're only three years old, how did she expect them to build a snowman in a yard that was covered with a foot of snow? And, of course, they were only wearing pajamas, warm flannel pajamas I might add, because they had just gotten out of bed. My negligent husband, taking no responsibility for them at all, had left for work before they were awake. After he left, my station manager Tom and I locked ourselves in my bedroom so we wouldn't wake them and discussed business.
“While the police were interrogating Tom, I slipped out with a baseball bat and proceeded to smash every window of my neighbor's house. I had managed to shinny halfway up a drain pipe to get to the second floor windows when a policeman grabbed my ankles and pulled me down, but not before I managed to show my displeasure by kicking him in the face. I won't bore you with the details of what happened after that, but let's just say it did not go well for me. And this is why I must advise you to attack this evil woman by every means possible before she does you any more harm. You must protect yourself from her viciousness!”
“You are so right, Miss DuPoint,” Millie said. “You are validating my own thoughts. I hope I may call again.”
“Of course, M.F.,” replied Dolly. “You are such an admirable person to withstand the assaults of this disgusting person without a hint of complaint. I feel we are soul mates. Call again anytime, and please call me Dolly.”
Well, that was something you don't hear on the radio everyday! I did have to agree with Dolly on one thing. She and M.F. sure seemed to be soul mates, possibly cell mates someday.
As I pulled up in front of the motel I scanned the cars in the parking lot, but there was no sign of a tow truck. Nick Havers was at the check-in desk and saw me drive up, and as I got out of my car he stuck his head out the door and waved to me.
“Hey, Dani! Long time no see!” he called. “What brings you out here so early?”
“Oh, I was looking for someone; an old acquaintance who had been out of town for a while,” I said. “I thought he might be staying here. His name is Belcher.”
“Belcher, hmm... W
hat's his first name?”
“Uh... I don't know.” Nick looked at me curiously. “Okay, so he's not really an acquaintance,” I admitted. “Actually, he's the sort of guy that would have stayed at a place like this back when it was the old run-down Dry Bed Motel. He's a big scary guy that drives a tow truck. Have you seen him?”
“No, I can't say that I have,” Nick replied. “We've been trying to cut down on the number of big scary guys that hang around here recently. What did he do? Did he cause some kind of trouble at the Breezy Spoon?”
“No, although he did come in once,” I said. “He was rude and he wanted four sugars in his coffee.”
“Four sugars! The man must be some kind of monster!”
“See, that's what I thought! Anyway, if he does come around you should probably call the sheriff. I think he's dangerous.”
“Thanks, but I finally got the sheriff's department out of the motel yesterday and I'm in no hurry to have them back! It doesn't help business to have a parking lot full of police cruisers and crime scene investigators!”
“What were they all doing here?” I asked.
“They wanted to see the room of that guy who got killed.... uh, Duval, I think his name was.”
“Lloyd Duval was staying here?” This was news I hadn't seen coming; the Duval family has a house by the lake near East Spoon Creek City where they lived for years. After Lloyd went to prison and his father died, his mother moved to Florida, but she never sold the house and I had assumed that Lloyd had been living there when he moved back to town. Why would he be staying in a motel this far outside of town when he could have lived in his own house?
“Yeah, he's had a room here for a couple of weeks or so,” Nick said.
“Wait- he'd been here for two weeks? He only came back into town a few days ago. Why would he stay out here without letting anyone know he was out of prison?”