Tip a Hat to Murder

by Elaine L. Orr

  “I didn’t think Ben would have had enough extra money to gamble.”

  Marti frowned. “I think he did it to get money.”

  Elizabeth said nothing to that kind of logic. “How much did he take in from the people who placed bets with him?”

  “Like I said, we didn’t get involved in that. It’s not like they left the money on the counter.”

  “Take a guess.”

  “See, he went upstairs, to his apartment, to count it.”

  “Ah.” Elizabeth pondered that. Perhaps Ben’s decision to use an apartment upstairs was a deliberate choice. But then why was money hidden in the booth? “Never saw him with a big stack of bills?”

  “Not all together, but he took in a lot in March, for the NCAA games.” When Elizabeth said nothing, she added, “Because there were so many games close together. I mean, I don’t know how much, but people gave him sheets of paper with their money. Every day.”

  “Paper? Because it was a lot to keep track of?”

  Marti shrugged. “That’s what I figured.”

  “Okay, I asked you guys if you knew people who were mad at Ben.”

  Marti shifted in her seat. “We didn’t really lie. I mean, people would be mad if they lost, but Ben didn’t tell them what to bet.”

  “But people did get mad sometimes?”

  “Mostly Gordon, and one of the college guys. But Ben and Gordon, they really were friends. Every day Ben would sit in the booth with Gordon after Gordon finished his Sudoku thing.”

  “Which college guy?”

  “The stuck-up one.”

  Elizabeth almost smiled. “Would that be Blake Wessley?”

  She nodded. “Almost every time he came in he told somebody he was the fraternity president. Like it was a big deal.”

  “And what did Wessley say when he was angry?”

  Marti thought for several seconds. “I mean, a couple times he wanted money right away, and Ben said he needed to wait a day.”

  “Do you know why?”

  “Sometimes Ben didn’t have enough. Wessley yelled at him that he should have had enough to cover. Some people heard.”

  “Did the other customers say anything?”

  “Ben pretended they were joking, like there was no cover charge to come into the diner.”

  “Was that the only time Wessley mouthed off?”

  “Mostly.” Marti studied the ceiling, as if thinking hard. “He was just grouchy a lot. I think he liked to pretend he had money, but he didn’t.”

  “Did anybody ever take a swing at Ben?”

  She shook her head several times. “No. I mean, no one liked the food all the time, but they knew Ben. I think everybody in town liked him.”

  “Even the ones who came in after midnight, you think?”

  She shrugged. “Like I told you earlier, I was almost never there. Ask Steve Johnson.”

  “What did you think of Johnson being let go?”

  Marti eyes widened. “You mean like fired?”

  “More like laid off, I think.”

  She shook her head. “Ben would have told us. Nick and me.”

  Elizabeth spread her hands and closed them. “That’s what Johnson said. How do you think he would have taken it when Ben told him?”

  “Not good at all. Well, that’s what I think, anyway. He was already mad about losing tips. I think he was saving to move out of Logland sometime.”

  “Do you think Johnson would have been angry enough at Ben to take a swing at him?”

  Marti’s eyes widened. “I didn’t work with Steve a lot. But it doesn’t make sense. I mean, I don't know about taking a swing. Firing him? Ben would have to work every night shift.”

  Elizabeth nodded. “Could be.”

  Marti closed her eyes and then opened them. “It’s hard to stay awake at night if you work in the day.”

  “But Ben did?”

  “Uh, after the breakfast rush, he’d started going upstairs. He did that sometimes, to do paperwork or something. Maybe he slept then.”

  “And came down for lunch?”

  Marti nodded, seemingly thinking. “And he did go up for a couple hours in the afternoon. But just lately.”

  “Did you ever hear Steve Johnson and Ben fight?”

  “After Ben quit tips, we were all mad. But…I think I was maybe most mad.” She sat up straighter. “But I didn’t kill Ben!”

  “No one said you did. Think harder. Even if someone didn’t holler or threaten not to come back, did anyone seem more put out or moody? Anyone push Ben to pay them money they won?”

  "It'd be hard to know about the money part. From what I saw, all that discussion was quiet." She brightened. "I just remembered, I think Ben maybe put cash in the menus when he passed them out. Not a lot. I thought I saw it a couple of times. Once Squeaky dropped the menu and made like money came from his pockets."

  "Any other hiding spots for money?"

  Marti tilted her head for several seconds. "I don't think so."

  "What were you thinking about just now?"

  Marti frowned. "I'm probably wrong, but the last couple times I worked with Steve, he cleaned a lot. Under the toaster and blender, even." She flushed. "But I'm not saying he was searching for money, or took any."

  So, maybe Steve Johnson wasn't fired because Ben couldn't afford to keep him.

  Marti leaned forward. "Please don't tell Steve I accused him of anything."

  Elizabeth smiled. "Of course not. So, one more time, anything else seem odd? Anyone come in or not come in more often?"

  “No, Jen and Ben used to be better friends than they seemed lately.” She shrugged. “Or maybe Jen came in less because she had a lot of tests to grade or something.”

  Elizabeth filed that thought in her brain, and stood. “Thanks, Marti.”

  A FEW MINUTES LATER, a subdued Nick, wearing faded jeans and a t-shirt that said 'pigs rule,' gave answers almost identical to Marti’s. Elizabeth figured they could have talked on the phone after Marti left, but she also thought Nick would have trouble memorizing a set of responses. Likely, he said what he knew without any prepping.

  Nick seemed relieved when Elizabeth asked about Ben's other source of income.

  "I wanted to tell you about that, Chief, but I thought I'd get all those other people in trouble."

  "People like who?"

  "Like Alice, and...Should I be giving names?"

  "I'm pretty sure I know the regulars. Anybody from out of town?"

  He shook his head.

  "Do you have any idea how much money Ben took in from the gambling?"

  "No, he took it upstairs to count."

  "Ever see anyone looking for it?"

  Nick seemed puzzled. "I don't even know where he kept it. You think someone else did?"

  "I have no idea. That's the kind of thing I'm trying to figure out.” Nick didn’t mention Blake Wessley's temper, so Elizabeth asked about him.

  “He thought he was God’s gift to the diner, and sometimes he was rude. But I think he was too prissy to kill someone.”

  That was a word Elizabeth hadn’t heard for a while. “Prissy?”

  “You know, he always wanted to look good. I think he even got manicures.”

  Elizabeth nodded slowly. “So you don’t think he could stab anyone?”

  “I don’t think he’d want to get blood on his hands from stabbing someone.”

  “Interesting distinction.”

  “Huh?”

  Elizabeth smiled. “That’s a curious way to look at it. Were you there one day when he yelled at Ben, when Ben couldn’t cover Wessley’s winnings?”

  “Nah. Marti told me.”

  “Did you know Ben let Steve Johnson go?”

  “Bullshit! Ben wouldn’t do that.” Nick flushed, then frowned. “I guess he wasn’t there the last couple days. Damn, he must have been…”

  “Been what?”

  Nick leaned closer to Elizabeth’s desk. “See, Steve never got mad much, but when he did he was rea
lly mad.”

  “Mad how?”

  “Not like fight. He’d just stomp around. One time Ben said Steve was practically throwing the menus at the customers. Steve acted like he didn’t even know he did it.”

  “You think he did it on purpose?”

  Nick shrugged. “Steve wouldn’t stab Ben.”

  Elizabeth shut her notebook. “I think that’s it then.” She started to rise, but Nick didn’t, so she sat down.

  “So, Chief. You know anyone who wants to, well, hire a guy to do work?”

  “You don’t like the Weed and Feed?”

  “It’s okay, but there’s a lot of stuff on that menu, and a lot of tables to serve. I got mixed up a couple times. Harvey comps people a drink or ice cream if I screw up.”

  “Ah. You have any experience in other areas?”

  “Best job I ever had was when they were building the new county jail. I mean, I’m not like a plumber or electrician, but I can help anybody.”

  If attitude were the most important attribute, Elizabeth could see how Nick would be an asset anywhere. “Not too many construction jobs right now, are there?”

  “No, and Bob Evans, well, they have a lot on the menu, too. I just…The diner didn’t have lots of choices. I hope someone buys it.”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “I don’t know of anything specific. Did you ask any of the regular patrons? Maybe they’ve found another place like the Bully Pulpit.”

  He brightened. “Yeah, maybe.” He stood. “Thanks for the idea.”

  After he left, Elizabeth sat still, thinking. The more she heard about the extent of the gambling the less Elizabeth thought the killer was a stranger. Her only solid reason for thinking it was because the cash drawer had about the amount it should have held after a night shift. No random robber would have left without it.

  Of course, Ben could have had money in his pockets and handed that over. But then why would someone kill him? Maybe Ben pushed the person and tried to run away. That would explain why he was stabbed behind the knee.

  Her phone rang and she started. Jen began talking before she said hello. “Alice is really upset. Why didn’t you come back, instead of Tony?”

  “Officer Calderone was simply following up with a couple of basic questions. No reason for Alice to be distraught.”

  Elizabeth might feel sorry for Alice, but it wasn’t her job to comfort bereaved friends. “Jen, I know you deal with irritated students at the college. You can help her.”

  Jen was silent for several seconds. “She’ll feel better when you find somebody to charge with Ben’s murder.”

  “We all will. I need to take another call.” Elizabeth hung up. She had no other call, but she did have an idea for something to check.

  She walked into the bullpen and over to Frank Hammer, who was filling out part of the end-of-month report on number of traffic citations and tickets issued. The mayor and council thought this was the most important component of the police department’s work.

  She sat on the edge of his desk. “So, Sergeant, people have known Steve Johnson most of his life. He has no record here. What about when he went to college?”

  Hammer put down his pen. “He went up to Champaign/Urbana. Since he hasn’t been a suspect, we haven’t checked any state database.”

  She stood. “Let me know what you find.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  PATRICIA BENDER AND CHARLES POTTER’S Logland Press article was published the Friday of homecoming weekend. It generated conversation at Doris’ donut and cookie shop when Elizabeth stopped by en route to work, and at the dry cleaner’s when she picked up her uniform.

  Squeaky barely looked at her change as he counted it. “So, Chief, did you know all that? I mean, you knew about a couple of us. The paper didn’t name us, thank God, but it made it sound as if half the town bet with Ben.”

  Elizabeth would have been even more annoyed at herself for missing a large operation, but she thought the two debate team members who had written what the Logland Press editor called a ‘special to the paper,’ were simply repeating rumors.

  “So, Squeaky, your place is across the street. How many more people were in there during Super Bowl Week or the NCAAs?”

  “Oh, a bunch then. I mean…you don’t want more names, do you?”

  Elizabeth signed a credit card slip. The cost of cleaning a uniform was ridiculous. “And the rest of the time, you and Alice and the regular crowd were pretty much the only bettors that you knew about, right?”

  Squeaky stared into space for a moment, and then back at Elizabeth. “Far as I know.”

  “That’s what I hear, too.” She capped her pen. “Mr. Potter and Ms. Bender may have a reason for what they say, but I also think they want some attention.”

  “Huh. Are they allowed to print stuff that’s not true?”

  Elizabeth took her plastic-encased clothes from a hook near the cash register and turned toward the door. “Depends on what the editor checks, I guess.”

  Outside, where she could see the closed diner across the street, she breathed deeply. The cool October air hinted at rain later, which meant a messy football game that night.

  She had already called the Logland Press editor to ask if he thought Ben’s circle of gamblers was the “thirty to forty people per day” that the article alleged.

  “Chief, I don’t rightly know.”

  “Jerry, you ate there a lot more often than I did. Are you telling me your sharp eyes didn’t pick up on a trove of wagerers? Seemed to me sometimes not even forty people ate in the place all day.”

  “They assured me they had observed that number.”

  “They weren’t regulars. I will ask them about it. That volume of betting contradicts everything I’ve heard. And the part about a lot of students participating? I think that’s pure crap.”

  Jerry cleared his throat. “I, um, did have a call from the college. Right early, about seven-thirty.”

  Elizabeth smiled to herself. “Surely they aren’t asking for names.”

  “They didn’t bother trying that. They said something about getting my facts straight. Like I said, it was a special to the paper.”

  “Sounds to me like that means you don’t ask any questions about sources.”

  “They said they were confidential.”

  Elizabeth opened the back door of her car and put her uniform on a hook behind the driver’s seat. “Well, sure, reporters protect sources. But I thought editors talked to writers to be sure a story was on the money, so to speak.”

  Jerry’s bristling attitude came through the phone. “I don’t try to tell you how to do your job, Chief.”

  “I’ll take any advice I can get. What I get from you now is that those two members of the debate team used rumor and innuendo as research.”

  His tone became very formal. “We’ll have to agree to disagree.”

  “Any time you want to help me understand what we disagree on, I’d love to hear from you.”

  “I’m getting another call. Goodbye, Elizabeth.”

  She swung her car into traffic, always light at eight in the morning, and drove to the station. She had to decide whether to call Potter and Bender, and leaned against it. They wanted her to approach them, so they’d feel important or get some quotes on record. At least Patricia Bender would want those things.

  Elizabeth wondered if Charles Potter thought he had gotten in over his head with his writing partner.

  Elizabeth didn’t need to make a decision. As she placed a cup of coffee on her desk, Sergeant Hammer buzzed her.

  “Hey, Chief.” Hammer lowered his voice. “I have some info for you. But you've got two inquiring minds out here. You want me to send ‘em packing?”

  “I’ll come out.” She took a deep swallow of coffee and went to the public area.

  They sat on the public side of the counter, in two of the uncomfortable plastic chairs. Patricia, wearing a deep purple sweater that fell to her calves and a loosely tied silk-type scarf, saw her an
d stood. Charles rose more slowly.

  Elizabeth stayed on her side of the counter and didn’t give them a chance to speak first. “Guess the NPR gig didn’t pan out.”

  Charles said, “Huh?”

  Patricia spoke quickly. “We thought the audience was in Logland.”

  “Ah. I’m surprised you didn’t attempt to verify much of your information.”

  Patricia bristled. “We did.”

  Charles tugged the zipper on his fleece jacket halfway up and back down again, his eyes moving from Elizabeth to Patricia and back.

  Elizabeth leaned on the counter. “A bunch of people know the exact diner clientele. I think they would disagree with the volume of gamblers.”

  “The point,” Patricia tossed a long plume of her scarf over one shoulder, “is that a lot went on in that diner that no one knew about.”

  Elizabeth smiled, “Don’t you mean you were unaware?”

  She flushed. “You’re changing the subject.”

  “What was the subject?”

  Charles began, “We wonder if you had any…”

  Patricia’s voice overrode his. “Do you have any comments on our well-researched article?”

  Elizabeth’s smile was genial. “Nope.”

  Patricia’s cheeks reddened. “How can you have no comment?”

  “All I saw was a rehash of speculation. I never comment on speculation.”

  “What about all the college students?” she asked.

  “People who ate there mentioned only a couple. How many would you say there were?”

  Patricia straightened her shoulders. “I don’t have an exact number.”

  “How about giving me the highest number you have? Verified number, I mean, preferably from your own observation.”

  Charles had been standing next to Patricia, and backed a couple inches from the counter.

  Patricia didn’t miss a beat. “Fifteen.”

  “Ms. Bender, some days the Bully Pulpit had fewer people than that eat dinner at the place. Students who live on campus have meal cards for the cafeteria. I’ve never seen more than three or four in the diner, the same three or four.”

  Elizabeth let that sink in for a moment. “You have every right to delve into any subject you want, but if you’re thinking of being a journalist, you also have a responsibility to be accurate.”