The Klumps Mysteries: Season One (Episodes 1 through 7)

by DL Cook

  Duey scoffed. “One of your guys stunk up the car and the other one tried not to throw up. And you made them drive an hour out of the way.”

  “That was on purpose,” Libby said. Don nodded and tapped his bald head to signify that he was the brains of the operation. “And don't make fun of my brother,” Libby added.

  Duey rolled his eyes. “If that's all, I'm gonna head back to my cell.”

  “You sit down or I'll drag you down by your stretched out earlobes,” Don threatened.

  “I am sitting down.”

  “Good.”

  “We're here to find out whether the guys that attacked us this morning were there to rescue or kill you,” Libby said.

  “I know nothing about that,” Duey said. Libby couldn't decipher his expression. Fear? Hope?

  “How's that green Honda of yours?” Don asked.

  “So you came here to gloat about auctioning it off?”

  “So you do own a green Honda.”

  “Yeah, what of it?” Confusion spread over Duey's face.

  “What were you doing in Methton the other day?” Don asked.

  Fear replaced confusion. “Nothing.”

  “It was parked outside the house of one Travis Quinton. A convicted felon.”

  “I know nothing about that,” Duey started sweating.

  “Why do you look like you do?”

  “I, um. I was getting high. Not at that house. At a different house.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  Duey's face changed, as if he thought of something. “I don't have to talk to you pigs. I confessed already. Just leave me alone. Guard!”

  “Time to leave anyway,” Don offered a hand to his wife. “Mort wants to update us on the warehouse situation.”

  Cinthia stopped their car next to the silver trailer that had been Duey McCaliker's before he went to prison. Kurt sat next to her, describing in minute detail the blow by blow of their fight with the masked men. “They had a gun to my neck but I hit it away. I flipped one guy over my shoulder and hit the other guy with my head. That's how I got this broken nose.”

  “You're a real hero,” Cinthia said and got out of the cruiser. She walked around empty beer cans and other trash to the front door.

  “Hey, whatchyou doing?” Kurt leaned out the passenger window. “We just gotta secure the scene. We're here. It's secure. Unless you're going in there to find some beer...”

  Cinthia paid him no mind. She wondered why the door was ajar. She crept closer and drew her revolver. Hearing nothing, she entered the hot, dark confines. The smell hit her before her eyes adjusted. She tumbled out of the trailer, doubling over and dry heaving at the dusty ground. It was worse than any smell Tom ever produced.

  “What's the matter?” Kurt said behind her. By the sound of it he had entangled himself with his seat belt.

  “There's something horrible in there.”

  “Oh yeah?” as Kurt tumbled out his gun went off. Someone yelped not too far off.

  “What was that?”

  “Nothing,” Kurt got to his feet. “Probably hit a dog or something. Don't worry about it.”

  Cinthia closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I think there's a dead body in there.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Come have a look.”

  Kurt holstered his weapon and did as she suggested. A pickup truck behind them roared its engine, made a quick swerving u-turn, and shrieked away. Kurt shrugged.

  Cinthia pulled her shirt over her nose and went back into the trailer.

  “Oh Jeez that's nasty,” Kurt was in after her.

  Once her eyes adjusted Cinthia found the body right away. “Female, mid twenties,” she informed the dispatcher. The victim's ID was right there on top of her body. Charlene Atkinson. It looked like her neck was broken. Her exposed skin had abrasions all over. They exited the trailer to get a breath of air.

  When he finished coughing, Kurt theorized that Duey killed Charlene before he was arrested. When Cinthia finished dialing he snatched the phone from her and informed Don of his discovery.

  Tom didn't like it. Not one bit. Ghosts didn't like getting dug up, and here he was in charge of one being dug up. He saw a video about this on the internet. It did not end well for any of the characters except that one annoying girl. He hoped he was the annoying girl in this situation, but he felt sorry for everyone else. And he hadn't eaten anything that day other than the box of cereal, pancakes, and the burrito Lucus bought him. He liked Chalmers now. Too bad his partner had to leave on urgent police business.

  The excavator started up and then stalled. A crow squawked somewhere. Libby was always talking about omens. Tom didn't think this was a good one. “Can you please wait a little?” he asked the workers, who shrugged.

  “I get paid by the hour either way,” one of them said.

  Tom did what he thought any grown man would do in such a scary situation. He called his mother.

  Peggy greeted Libby and Don at the door. Mort waved to them inside the warehouse. The team had installed bright fluorescent lights and a number of platforms from which to make observations without disturbing the scene.

  When Mort shuffled over in his specialized white plastic suit Don said, “I'm sure you'll be happy to hear that we have another body for you. Kirk found it by the trailer park.”

  Mort smiled. “The more the merrier, I always say.”

  Peggy gave him a look. “We're moving along here,” she said. “Collecting finger prints, fibers, hairs. It's going to be a long process, but I think we're going to get a lot of good data here. Despite Arthur.” Her upper lip curled.

  “Did Duey do this?” Libby asked.

  “Honestly,” Peggy replied, “I don't think he's smart enough.”

  “Indeed,” said Mort. “Some interesting work has been done to the bodies. The pineal gland has been removed from at least three. A few others were completely drained of blood. I suspect they were alive at the time. No signs of struggle. The cold has left them very well preserved. Some nice work, I must say. There are thirty bodies in all, but with enough equipment for another five.”

  Don and Libby went to have a look around. “Peggy, you or Duncan should probably go to McCaliker's trailer. I'd like to know how that went down and whether it's related to this or if we have another case on our hands.”

  “Yeah,” Peggy rolled toward the exit. “We were just on our way.”

  “Good.” Don turned to Libby. “I guess we have to talk to Duey again, now that we've found his girlfriend.”

  Duey waited for Don and Libby as before. “What now?” he said. “You keep harassing me and my lawyer will sue your ass.”

  “Yeah, okay,” Don snorted. “Same lawyer that got you in here? I'm not too worried.”

  “So what you want then?”

  “To ask you a few more questions,” Tom's sister said.

  “I told you pigs before, I got nothing to say.”

  “I thought you might change your mind when you saw this.” Don held his cell phone in front of Duey.

  Duey's blood left his limbs. His body went numb, except for the gut where it felt like someone punched him. His beautiful Charlene.

  “Did you do this? The theory is you killed her before we arrested you at the warehouse. But judging from your ugly mug and my extraordinary perceptive abilities, I'd say it was someone else. You're a killer. But I know you didn't do what's written in your confession. Believe it or not we're on the same side here.”

  Duey couldn't control his tears. They had Charlene. If he didn't talk nothing would happen to her, they said. Now she was dead. Was Don trying to trick him? No. The stupid pig bastard wouldn't have thought to do that. They had nothing on him now. “Yeah,” he said. “I mean, no. It wasn't me. It was the Ice Queen.”

  “Ice cream?” Libby said hopefully.

  “No you stupid bitch. Ice Q—” Duey couldn't finish because Don slammed his head against the table.

  “Watch your mouth you scumbag.”

  D
uey spit blood, his mouth ablaze. “Do you want me to tell you what I know or not?”

  Libby tried to see if Duey was okay. Don held her back. “Go on.”

  “I knew nothing about no warehouse. Charlene worked in there. Some kind of chemistry project, she said. She worked for the Ice Queen. No, I don't know exactly who that is. And yeah, I drove Charlene to the hospital that time. But I didn't kill no cop.”

  “What were you doing at the warehouse by yourself when we caught you?”

  “They called me and told me I had to move all the shit out of the place. I didn't know there was bodies and whatnot.”

  “Who called you? This 'iced clean'?”

  “Ice Queen!”

  “You have to enunciate better. So this lady called you and told you to move stuff out of the building?”

  “Yeah. But it wasn't a lady. It was this dude. W—”

  “And he works for this 'Ice Queen'?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And how do you know this?”

  Duey thought about it. “He uses this code when he calls.”

  “What code?” Don's phone rang. “Hold on a second, I have to take this. Mettler-Klump...What!?...Are you sure?...When?...Oh God damn it...Yeah, thanks.” He hung up. “We gotta go, hon—Libby.”

  “What's the matter,” Libby's eyes widened. “Is everything okay?”

  “I don't know.”

  “Is it your family?”

  “No,” he pulled her toward the door. “Town Hall has an emergency budget meeting. They want to cut our funding because of the rise in crime.” He turned to Duey at the door. “We'll be back. You'll tell us the rest then.”

  “You're welcome,” Duey called as the door clinked shut. He'd have to tell them about Travis and Wallace later. He never went into that house. He only dropped Travis off there. And it was true, he was getting high nearby. Whatever Travis did in that house, it was sick and Duey wanted no part of it.

  He could really go for a cigarette. Those fucks killed his girl and put him in the joint. Now that he thought about it, the old Icy bitch had him framed. They made him come to the warehouse so he would be arrested. And that's what those papers were that they made him sign back in the day. Owner of the factory. Duey shook his head, tasting the blood on his lips. He was their insurance policy from the start, as soon as he borrowed money from Travis. He should've known something was up when they made him go pick Travis up from here. That guy was serving a life sentence and he was out just like that? Duey scolded himself. “I should've known.”

  Where were the guards? They were taking their sweet time. “Hello? Guard!” He'd fight this. He'd call Norman Mettler at the first opportunity. He'd get out of jail. He'd find Travis and kill him slowly. Painfully. But first he'd find out who the Ice Queen was. “Guard!” And he'd get Wallace too.

  Keys scratched at the door.

  “Finally. I was beginning to think you forgot me.”

  The scratching went on for a long time, as if the guard didn't know which key was the correct one.

  “Jeez dude,” Duey said to the big guy when the door finally opened. “What is it, like your first day or something?”

  “Yeah, something like that,” the guard said.

  “Your voice sounds familiar,” Duey observed.

  The man shrugged. He had the same problem with the chains. After a few minutes' struggle he pushed Duey out of the interview room. Duey turned right, but the guard propelled him the other way.

  “Hey man, if it's your first day, I understand. But my cell's the other way, ain't it?”

  “Shut up and keep moving.”

  “Alright. You're the boss.” Duey didn't like it. And the guy seemed familiar somehow. “Hey, aren't you Nick's brother?”

  “I, ah, shut up and keep moving.”

  They passed a number of abandoned guard stations and then turned into a utility area. Duey swallowed. “Are you here to break me out or kill me?”

  “This is far enough.”

  Duey turned to find a gun pointed at his chest. “Oh come on man. Don't kill me. Come on Aaron. It's me. Duey. Remember we used to smoke up in junior high? You can't kill me man. We used to be friends and all that. You know they killed my Charlene? What do you think they'll do to you after you kill me? Just let me go, man. As a friend, just let me go.”

  Aaron's outstretched arm wavered.

  “Just put it down, man. You don't got to do this.”

  Aaron mulled it over. His gun hand dropped, moved up, dropped, moved up.

  “Just put it down,” Duey whispered.

  Aaron's face hardened as he found his resolve. He raised his arm and fired. Duey felt nothing and for a moment wondered if his body had collapsed behind him and he was a ghost. Aaron threw his hands up to his head, dropping the gun. Duey lunged forward, shouldering him like a fullback. The guard dropped after his head hit the wall.

  As Duey looked for the keys he noticed there was blood on Aaron's face. The bullet must have ricocheted off the wall and hit him. Duey shrugged and got his cuffs off. He stripped the man and put on his clothes. They were much too big on him and the pant legs dragged as he walked.

  He got to a guard post and they buzzed the gate open for him. As he nodded nonchalantly the uniform's collar hid half his face. The pants made sweeping sounds on the floor and he tripped over them twice. Only luck prevented him from falling. No one seemed to notice.

  “He give you trouble?” a burly corrections officer asked a couple of security checkpoints later.

  “Hmm?”

  The guy pointed at Don's handiwork on Duey's face.

  “Um, yeah, a little bit.”

  The guy laughed and shook his head. Duey waited at the gate, but the man didn't open it. After a while the guy coughed. When he got Duey's attention he held out his hand. Duey didn't understand what the guy wanted.

  After a long pause the guard said, “the other half?”

  His heart skipped a couple of beats. He groped along the pockets. In the jacket he found an envelope. He handed it to the guard, who looked inside.

  Satisfied, the man said, “pleasure doing business with you.”

  The gate buzzed and Duey stepped through. He nodded to a couple of other guards and they let him out after he confirmed that he was going out for dinner.

  A phone rang. He found it in his pocket. “Hello?”

  “Is it done?”

  “Huh?”

  “Did you kill McCaliker?”

  That was his name. Duey was confused.

  “Hello? Did you hear me? This stupid place. Can't get a signal here.” Whoever called him slammed his phone on something.

  “I'm McCaliker,” Duey said.

  “What was that? McCaliker?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Good. Meet me at the bus station in two hours.”

  “Okay.” Duey held the phone in his hand. That was weird. Must have been a wrong number, though the guy knew his name.

  It hit him. It wasn't his phone. “Duh,” Duey smacked his forehead a little too hard. He had to get out of here and there was one number other than Charlene's that he knew by heart. He called his friend Tom.

  His mom and dad arrived a couple of hours after Tom called them. Marcy explained as Tom listened very carefully and rubbed his hands together. Ted ran out of gas and they had to hike to the nearest gas station. Although they followed the highway, they got lost. They ended up eating lunch in a diner and met the most interesting group of people. Marcy thought the group was just what they needed for the situation. A number of Native Americans got out of the car. Marcy had them sit on top of one another, but they seemed okay with it. Had Mettler been there, there'd be no end to his complaining. He was such a sourpuss sometimes.

  “You should always carry some spare fuel,” said one of the cemetery workers between sips of beer.

  “Oh yes,” Ted said and went on to tell the man about all the other times he ran out of gas.

  “Alright!” Marcy said. “We're going to do some
Indian chanting to make things better here. As long as we don't exhume Councilman Hadiger's body everything will be okay.” She positioned the men and women around the grave and handed out copies of one of Tom's favorite pujas. “We have prasad in the trunk for after we're done,” she announced, “so I hope everyone's hungry. I made it myself.”

  Tom felt calmer just by holding the prayer in his hand. He couldn't wait to get started, as it was an especially long one and his mom tended to be long winded even with the brief ones. The promise of prasad made him impatient. “Come on, let's go.”

  “Hey lady,” said one of the assembled guests. “Is this Indian? Like from India?”

  “Yes. Absolutely,” Marcy replied and adjusted her glasses.

  “But as we've told you repeatedly, we are Cherokee.”

  She smiled and squeezed the man's shoulders. “The ghosts don't know that.” And then she turned toward the tombstone and bade everyone to chant with her.

  As the sun began to set and the group grew increasingly delirious because of hunger and dehydration, Tom received a call. He grabbed some prasad and stuffed it into his mouth. Leaving his mom in charge of the exhumation, he took the Medical Examiner's van to aid his friend.

  “What do you mean you didn't remove the body?” Ingrid scowled from above her newspaper. It was all going to hell. “Should've kept you locked up for your own good.”

  “The cops got there a little before us,” Travis explained. “One of them was the guy we paid to tell us when they were gonna transport Duey. But the lady cop was iffy.”

  “So why didn't you kill them, put them in the trailer, and blow it up?” Ingrid shook her head. Didn't her son learn anything from her?

  “We were gonna do something like that but the cops started shooting. Mike's hurt real bad.”

  “Why wasn't he wearing a vest?”

  “It got broke during the raid this morning. He said it was poking him or something so he didn't have it on.”

  “Morons. Where is he now?”

  “They're in the pool house.”

  “You brought them here?”

  “What? What's the problem with that? We've been here a few hours. Tried to give him vodka for the pain, but he's straightedge. Don't know what to do. You know a doctor or something?”

  Ingrid smacked her son in reply. “Take me to them.” Her sweet boy, what would he do without her?