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

by DL Cook

  They followed the dogs along a winding, slightly downhill path. The dogs stopped frequently to do their business and to wait for Libby and her partner to catch up.

  It turned out that Cinthia was also a big fan of Japanese animation and manga, so they discussed Full Metal Alchemist and Attack on Titan, which was supposed to be made into an anime.

  “Really? They're making it into an anime? I have to tell my brother,” Libby liked Cinthia instantly. She took out her phone. No service. She had forgotten to pay the bill again. Oh well. She didn't like getting calls anyway. “This is turning out to be a good hike,” she wiped sweat from her upper lip.

  Cinthia agreed. “Are you sure the dogs are following Duey McCaliker?”

  Libby nodded. “Yes. Or whoever killed Travis. I know it's Duey. And I know that once we find Duey we'll find my Don.”

  “To me it looks like they're just going down the easiest path.”

  “My boys have very sharp noses. I know it.”

  They walked some more and emerged into a clearing. On the far side was a grassy embankment. Between them and it were tall stalks that Libby always found beautiful. She wondered why the dogs went around instead of through them. Don was always saying how animals were more logical than people, like knowing that the shortest distance between two points was a straight line—Libby almost plunged into a muddy marsh. Cinthia caught her.

  “Thank you.”

  “Don't mention it.”

  “So that's why my boys are going around.”

  “Looks like a road up there,” Cinthia shielded her eyes from the sun.

  “And that's a building,” Libby pointed.

  “If Duey was here, I bet he went that way because it had its lights on at night.”

  “You're a genius!” Libby smiled.

  They caught up with the panting dogs and climbed the embankment. Libby sat on the metal guard rail to catch her breath. Across the road was Paul's Diner.

  “You think Duey went in there?”

  “Only one way to find out,” Libby replied.

  When she saw that there were no veggie burgers on the menu, Libby ordered fries and onion rings. Cinthia had a Coke. After they finished their snack Libby asked the man at the counter if he was there last night.

  “Been here every night for the last twenty years,” Paul twirled his whiskers.

  “You see anyone suspicious?”

  “Well, last week there were these city folk. They had fishing rods sticking out of their car window. I don't think they had a fishing license.”

  “I mean last night.”

  “Well, let's see here. No, I don't think so.”

  “Who left the muddy bootprints out in front?” Cinthia asked.

  “Oh, I've been meaning to clean that up. Young man came in here last night, asked to use the phone.”

  “Can you describe him?”

  “They all look the same these days. He had a neck tattoo, and those big earrings. Not the hoopy ones that women used to wear. But the ones that make the—what do you call these things?”

  “Lobes?”

  “Right. Lobes. They make the lobes all big. The kids these days...”

  “Do you know who he called?”

  “Probably the cab company, 'cause that's who picked him up. He asked for a veggie burger while he waited. I grilled him a carrot and put it between two buns. I tell you, these vegetarians. Society is going to hell.”

  Libby was glad she didn't ask for a veggie burger.

  “Do you remember which cab company it was?”

  “Vince's I think. They're the ones with the beat up old Chevys. Don't know why he didn't call that new one, I forget the name. They charge less and have those Lincoln Towncars. Yeah, the drivers ain't white, but everything else is better.”

  Sometimes Libby thought the whole town was racist. They used Paul's phone to call Vince's Car Service to pick them up and take them to its headquarters. Paul shook his head and muttered to himself about how no one listened to him.

  After the car picked them up and they crammed into the smelly backseat, Libby asked how Cinthia knew about the mud.

  “Oh, I just figured that in the dark Duey must have fallen into the marsh. You almost did and it was light out.”

  “Uh huh,” Libby didn't want to say it was because she'd been looking at a beautiful bird instead of watching where she was going. Before Mr. Powell got control of his dog she often stepped in doodoo for that reason.

  “So when I saw the mud caked on that rubber carpet thing outside the diner I put two and two together.”

  Libby nodded. Cinthia was so smart. When they got Don back she'd have to discuss promoting her.

  After getting a warrant from Judge Hand, Lucus and Tom went to Wallace William's apartment. “Whatever you do,” said Lucus, “don't call him Wally.”

  “Yeah, he's a crazy one,” Tom looked down at his phone. “Mettler's a better boss. Half the time I'm just sending him stuff from the internet.”

  Lucus tried Libby again. He got hit with three loud tones. Before he moved his phone away a prerecorded voice said the customer was temporarily unavailable. “Your sister forgot to pay her phone bill again.”

  “Don said it happens only twelve times a year.”

  They reached the third floor and walked to apartment 3B, which was at the end of the dark hall.

  “What a dump,” Tom said. “When Wally lost his job he must've run out of money fast.”

  “What'd I say about Wally?”

  “I don't know,” Tom put his phone away.

  “I said not to call him Wally.”

  “Oh yeah. Sorry about that.”

  Lucus began to think that maybe one of them should've waited outside by the fire escape in case Wallace decided to run. Then again, he was the type to look out the window. He'd know something was up if he saw Tom texting under the fire escape. They should play it like old colleagues coming to visit. Lucus regretted not buying a six pack for the illusion.

  They stopped at the door. “You're breathing down my neck, man.”

  “Sorry about that.”

  Lucus was just stalling. Should he ring or knock? He went for both. No answer. He heard nothing behind the door. “Maybe he's not in?” Or Wallace saw them and already escaped.

  Lucus tried kicking down the door. He got nothing but pain for his trouble. “Tom?”

  “Yeah?” he'd taken his phone out again.

  Lucus gestured at the door. “You mind?”

  Tom jiggled the handle. “It's locked.”

  “No kidding.”

  He went back to his phone. “Ha ha, guess what Sarah Palin said?”

  “Tom?”

  “No. She didn't say my name.”

  “Break it down.” He pointed at the door.

  “Oh.” Tom jiggled the handle again.

  “Not like that.”

  The handle came off in Tom's hand and the door creaked into the apartment.

  “Okay, I guess that works.” Lucus drew his gun and stalked inside. “Wallace, this is Lucus Chalmers from the PD. We have a warrant to bring you in.” Lucus hoped he didn't get shot or have a gun barrel rammed into his head from behind. No, that was just Tom breathing down his neck.

  “Sorry about that.”

  When it became clear that no one would shoot at them Lucus half expected to find Wallace dead in his love seat or the bathtub. Both were empty.

  “He's not here.”

  “Tom, sometimes your observational skills surprise me.”

  “Thank you.”

  It was an old man's apartment. Love seat, television, a couple of old newspapers and breadcrumbs on a small table. A dirty range with a kettle on top of it. An adjoining bedroom with a narrow bed, an old alarm clock next to a yellowed lamp and pictures of grandchildren. A bathroom with a leaky faucet—all enclosed by peeling white paint. Lucus lifted a book from the coffee table. “Get Your Life in Order Now! The Multi-pronged Approach to Success,” he read the title. The author signed the
title page to a GL. The Ice Queen's initials?

  “What a dump,” Tom said again. He took pictures. “I'm going to send these to Don so he saves for retirement.”

  At last, Don freed his feet. He got that terrible but not unpleasant sensation in them as blood found its way back into his toes. He grunted, but the television and even louder snoring covered him. Don bent forward onto his feet and stumbled toward the door.

  It took a lot of maneuvering to push down the handle. Pulling it was harder still, but he managed. The chair's metallic legs protruding from his back clanged against the door frame as he tried to sneak past. The guard, snoring in his ski mask, stopped for a second. Don held his breath. The snoring resumed. Don tiptoed past another deer head, accidentally knocking down some kind of vase with the chair.

  He winced.

  The snoring continued.

  Don was more successful with the front door, having learned from the last one. He rushed down the steps and toward the gravely driveway where a car stood. He stretched for the door, but no matter how he twisted and turned, he couldn't reach the handle. The swinging chair leg fractured the passenger window, however, and set the alarm off. Don rushed toward a copse of trees for cover. Good timing too, as another car pulled into the driveway.

  He sat down behind some bushes. The one good thing about his predicament was that he always had a chair ready.

  His legs burned in complaint. But that was nothing compared to the pain in his wrists and forearms. He had the urge to rub them, but couldn't.

  “What the hell did you do that for?” bellowed one voice.

  “What?” said a second over the alarm.

  “You broke my fucking window.” The alarm shut off with a woop-woop.

  “I ain't do nothing. I just got here.”

  They argued some more. Don waited until they went into the house. He got up and toddled as fast as he could along the driveway.

  He tripped and fell, his mouth full of dirt and fallen leaves. As he struggled to get up the voices returned.

  “Where did he go? You see him? Couldn't get far, I just checked on him like five minutes ago.”

  “How'd he get past you? You sleeping?”

  “No. He must have climbed out the window or something.”

  “Well we better find him quick, cause the head bitch is coming.”

  “She is?”

  “Yeah, and it won't be my ass on the line neither. Cause that pig was gone before I got here.”

  Don kept as still as he could while one of them shuffled through the leaves maybe a dozen feet away. A worm crawled by his eye. He grimaced and cursed the day he was elected police commissioner. Were he a lawyer like his dad wanted, he wouldn't be in this situation.

  “Over here. I think I see him.”

  “Where?” said the man who was almost on top of him.

  “Here, dumbass.”

  “I'm coming. Be quiet so he doesn't know we're on to him.”

  The voices receded. Don managed to get up. He continued in his awkward bent manner toward the end of the driveway and the road to freedom.

  “Our clients value their privacy,” Vince told Libby again.

  “But this is real important. Please sir? Pretty please? You don't even have to tell us where he went. You could just drive us there. That way you won't have told us any confidential information.”

  “I don't think so.”

  “Are your drivers able to follow other cabs?” Cinthia asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Like if a guy gets in a cab and I catch another one and tell the driver, follow that cab, will he do it?”

  “Yeah. I don't see why not,” Vince said.

  “Even if it's one of your cabs that I'm trying to follow?”

  Vince thought about it. “Yeah. I guess so.”

  Libby saw where Cinthia was going with this. “So then, can we just follow the cab that Duey took last night?”

  “Hold on, let me see if I can get the driver.” Vince looked through his records, licking his finger as he turned the pages. He peered over his glasses at them. “This is gonna cost you a pretty penny, ladies.”

  “I don't mind. Do you take credit cards?” Libby said.

  “Sure do. There's a five percent convenience fee, though.”

  Libby sighed. “That's okay. Just follow that cab.”

  Vince arranged it so that they had to go back to the diner. From there they followed an empty cab. It was a tedious and roundabout way of doing things, not to mention expensive. But Libby didn't mind as much as Cinthia apparently did. It reminded Libby of her weekend trips with her parents.

  The cabs dropped them off at an out of the way trailer, not far from where Tom rescued the girls from Travis. When the cars left, Libby crept to the front door. Cinthia circled around to make sure there were no other escape routes. She came back, shaking her head.

  Libby pulled her gun and knocked on the screen door. “Duey McCaliker. This is the police. Come out with your hands up.”

  Noises came from inside. Libby worried that Duey might be trying to flush the evidence. She saw it plenty of times in movies. She tried the door. It was unlocked.

  A man stood behind Duey with his hands around Duey's throat. Her surprise entrance distracted him, giving Duey the opportunity to elbow him and get out of his grip. He pushed Libby, who fell into Cinthia, and jumped out the door. As Libby got up and apologized to her partner a car out front started. Tires squealed as it accelerated away. Her dogs barked after it.

  “Commissioner Williams?” Cinthia said behind Libby.

  “Former Commissioner,” the potato-headed, stubbly man rubbed his wrists.

  “What are you doing here?” Libby was confused. “Did you know we were short staffed and decide to help us find Duey?”

  “Uh. Yeah.”

  “How did you find him?”

  The man kept silent.

  Williams was a man of few words, Libby thought. She offered him a ride back to town. “They might like to see you at the station, sir,” she said.

  The man shrugged and agreed to the ride. Libby asked Cinthia to call Vince's Car Service.

  “Call Jackson Cabs instead. They're cheaper and better,” Williams gave her the number.

  They rode to the station in style and silence. Libby didn't really know what to say to Mr. Williams, so she concentrated on her dogs, who panted between her and Cinthia. Williams sat in the front seat, lighting a cigar offered by the driver.

  “Oh my God! Look who it is!” Peggy said when they arrived. “It's Wally! Where've you been?”

  After greeting Peggy, Wallace looked at their diagram on the floor. But someone had messed it all up. Tom was nowhere to be found.

  “What's this?” Wallace asked.

  “We're working on a diagram of our case,” Libby squeaked, and hid her eyes.

  “I'm a suspect?”

  “What? No.” Libby examined the diagram. Two newspaper pages had gotten mixed in. One was a picture of Wallace Williams, the other a photo of Ingrid Quinton. They were connected with red yarn, with Quinton at the top of the pyramid.

  “Stupid Arthur. My uncle must have messed the whole thing up,” Libby hastily removed the photos and tried to rearrange the other pieces as best as she could. She gave up, remembering that Peggy took pictures.

  “Oh,” Wallace chuckled and grimaced.

  Libby started to think that the grimace was his way of smiling. “Arthur. He's still here? You know, I tried to get rid of him for five years. It turns out he's not even a town employee.”

  “He's not?”

  “No. That's why they can't fire him. Turns out he pays the town one hundred g's a year so he can 'clean' here.”

  Libby's mouth opened in shock. Arthur was rich? What the hell was he doing living with her family since she was small? He even took over her room when he moved in.

  “So where's Don?” Williams asked. “I want to meet the man who's replaced me.”

  Libby looked down at he
r feet again. “He's missing. The Ice Queen has him.”

  “'Ice Queen'? What's that?”

  “It's the criminal mastermind of the whole town.”

  William's expression of condescension and mild amusement did not change. He looked at his watch. “May I make a phone call?”

  Although he freaked her out, Mr. Williams started to grow on Libby. The fact that he didn't carry a cell phone was a plus in her mind. When she remembered that her phone was still out of service she directed him to a landline. It was beneath a ton of Don's paperwork. They found it by following the phone cable from the wall.

  “Thanks,” he said in a way that suggested he wanted privacy. Libby gave him space. She wondered if Williams had anyone special in his life and whether that woman called him snugglespuss in private like she did Don. She giggled and waved to Tom across the room.

  “Hey Libby buddy,” he stormed past her and put his former boss in a tight bear hug.

  After finding nothing incriminating at the apartment and no clue as to Wallace's whereabouts, Lucus and Tom returned to the station.

  “What's all the commotion?” Lucus asked Cinthia in the lobby.

  She gave him a brief account of her day with Libby.

  “What? Wallace is here?”

  “Yeah. Luke, I was wondering. Should we maybe have collected evidence at the trailer?”

  “Yeah. Find Duncan, pick up Libby's car, and get to the trailer to see what you might find.”

  “Got it.”

  “Tom, you're with me.” They walked toward the conference room, Lucus' heart racing. And there he was, their suspect, on the phone at Don's desk. “Grab him,” Lucus said. He freed his gun, watching Tom brush past Libby and lift Wallace.

  The room went silent.

  “Tom? What are you doing? Put him down!” Libby said, her face red with embarrassment.

  Tom looked from Libby to Lucus, unsure what to do.

  “He's. Just. Hap-py. To. See. Me,” Wallace managed.

  “No,” Lucus said. “Wallace Williams, you're under arrest for playing a material part in a criminal enterprise. Cuff him, Tom, and bring him to interrogation room one.”

  “That one's busy,” someone said.

  “Then bring him into two.”

  “What's going on?” Libby asked. “I thought Mr. Williams might help us find Don.”

  “I bet he could, as he probably knows where Don is. And I'd bet he had to do with his abduction,” Lucus said. “I've been trying to reach you all day.” He explained what he and Tom learned from the chemical company and how Mort isolated a compound that destroyed all of the evidence at the warehouse.