The Treacherous Teddy

by John J. Lamb

  “That’s how I read it, too. Ash had already found the body by then.” I went over to the coffeemaker and poured myself a cup. Holding up the carafe, I asked, “Want some?”

  Tina shook her head. “Mr. Hauck may be out of the suspect mix, but it still leaves Ms. Driggs as a possible killer.”

  “More so now than before, I think. Our original theory was that the murderer had to be a skilled archer, and there was no evidence that Sherri had ever handled a bow and arrow in her life.” I took a sip of coffee.

  “But if you’re right about how the arrow shaft got bent, she was as capable of stabbing Mr. Rawlins as anyone else.”

  “It might also explain the sudden shift in the power dynamic the first time I interviewed them,” I said meditatively.

  “How do you mean?”

  “When I arrived in the suite, she was clearly the boss and he was the pampered and reasonably well-trained pet. However, once I broke the news that Ev had been murdered, Sherri folded up faster than a paper dinner napkin and Jesse started acting like Conan the Toy Boy-barian.”

  “It almost sounds as if he had her over a barrel.”

  “Maybe he did. I’m wondering if Sherri didn’t tell him the truth about how she ended up in Thermopylae on Thursday night. Maybe I just don’t recognize true love when I see it, but I doubt Jesse kept his mouth shut out of loyalty to her.” I finished the coffee. “The question is: Which liar do we talk to first? Wade, Sherri, or Jesse?”

  “I think we have to follow up on Wade Tice.”

  “Agreed. We could speculate all day about what Sherri might have done at the murder scene, but we have strong evidence that Wade fired an arrow and was last seen heading toward the victim’s home.”

  “And that could have been because he’d missed and wanted to finish the job.”

  “It fits both the evidence and timeline. We have to consider him our primary suspect, which means it’s time to . . . roll the Tice.”

  Tina shook her head in disbelief and then turned back to the computer. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that and get started on the new search warrant affidavit.”

  “Fortunately, you can use the same preliminary information for the new warrant.”

  “I know, but I need a description of the premises.”

  “It’s a two-story cabin-style house made out of brown wood, composite shingle roof, with a red brick chimney on the . . .” I closed my eyes to recall the Tice farm and continued, “. . . north side of the residence.”

  “Thanks.”

  “De nada. Hey, do you mind if I go over to the teddy bear show for a couple of minutes? I imagine Ash is chomping at the bit for some news.”

  Tina waved, but didn’t look up from the computer screen. “Tell her I said hi, and take your time. This is going to take a little while.”

  As I approached the church community center, I was happy to see that vehicles still filled the parking lot. Even better, it looked as if there were some fresh attendees arriving. It’s been my experience that you can measure the success of a teddy bear show by how dramatically the collector crowd drops off when lunchtime comes. Once inside the hall, I decided to take a few minutes and resume my search for a Christmas gift for Ash.

  Most guys view Christmas shopping for their spouse as an experience akin to a tooth extraction—it’s a task to be completed as quickly as possible. I’m different. I actually enjoy the process of shopping, especially when I’m hunting for the perfect treasure for Ash at a teddy bear show.

  Crossing over to the side of the hall opposite of where Ash sat at our display table, I headed up the aisle, carefully surveying the bear bonanza. I wasn’t certain what I was looking for, but would recognize it instantly when I saw it. Often, it’s the bear’s costume that generates a collector’s initial interest in a teddy, but that’s a secondary consideration for Ash and me. Costumes are nice, but we’re primarily on the lookout for a teddy with a sweet face. And I’d just found one on artist Donna Griffin’s table.

  It was a panda bear, fashioned from black-and-cocoa-colored mohair. Somehow, Donna had crafted the teddy’s expression to express thoughtfulness, serenity, and kindness. It was the face of a loving companion, and I knew Ash would adore it, particularly because our friend Donna had created the bear.

  I paid for the bear and asked Donna to give it to Pastor Terry to hold until I could come and collect it. Then I headed back over to meet with Ash. I found my wife standing beside our exhibitor table, which appeared curiously bare of bears.

  Ash was holding Edie Éclair, one of her teddies dressed in a delectable-looking chocolate éclair costume, while a woman I recognized as a photographer from the Harrisonburg newspaper interviewed her. Remmelkemp Mill usually didn’t generate much news, but between the murder, the fire, and the teddy jubilee, it looked as if the town was going to make the paper three times in a week. I didn’t approach the table until the reporter finished with Ash and wandered off to take more photographs of the teddy jubilee.

  Ash smiled when she saw me. “Here’s something I’ve never said before: I was beginning to get worried about you.”

  I kissed her on the cheek. “Sorry, love, but I just couldn’t get away.”

  “And from that uncomfortable look in your eyes, I can tell that you can’t stay.”

  “I don’t have to go right this minute. But once Tina finishes typing up the search warrant paperwork and gets the judge to issue it, we’ll be heading over to Wade Tice’s place.”

  “Then you have time for lunch.” Ash put the teddy bear on the table and led me to a chair. “And while you eat, you can bring me up to date on everything that’s happened.”

  I nodded toward our mostly vacant exhibitor table. “You go first. There was a pretty big bunch of bears here when I left.”

  “And it stayed that way until around eleven. Then I suddenly had a crowd at the table and everyone wanted to buy a piece. Brad, it was like nothing I’ve ever seen.” She handed me the plastic foam food box containing my lunch from the Brick Pit.

  “It sounds bear-ly believable.”

  “It was amazing.” Ash was beaming. “I even sold several of Tina’s bears.”

  I scanned the table. “And Gil Grizzly is gone.”

  “That’s the most exciting news. The lady who bought him wants to talk to you sometime about making a companion piece.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “No, she wants you to make Bear-a Sidle.” Ash was referring to the character of Sara Sidle from CSI, the criminalist who’d been in a relationship with Grissom. “Anyway, I wish you’d been here to see it. It was our best day ever at a show.”

  “I wish I’d seen it, too.” I covered my mouth to conceal a yawn. “Hey, do we have something to drink with caffeine in it?”

  “Are you starting to drag?” She retrieved a can of Diet Coke from our lunchbox-sized cooler and opened it.

  “A little, but I’ll be fine.” I took a sip of the soda. Then, between bites of pulled pork sandwich and cold French fries, I told Ash everything that I’d learned since leaving the church hall to make a second inspection of the Rawlins home.

  When I finished, she said, “If Tina doesn’t finish the paperwork until the show is over, I’d like to come with you when you serve the warrant at Tice’s house.”

  “I’m guessing that Tina would probably welcome your help and not just because we’ve run out of deputies. You’re cool under pressure, which is exactly the kind of cop you want as a member of a high-risk entry team.”

  Ash patted my hand. “That’s about the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

  “It’s true.” I folded my coat up into a makeshift pillow and placed it between my head and the cinder-block wall.

  “But why would we be making a high-risk entry into the house? I thought you said there wasn’t enough probable cause to arrest Tice.”

  “There isn’t, but we know he has a potential for violence.”

  “And he probably has other weapons besides
the bow inside his house.”

  “Exactly. And we have to assume that he might do more than just brandish a screwdriver when we go back there.” I closed my eyes.

  “Should I call Tina and see if she wants me to suit up?”

  “Good idea.” I pulled the phone from my shirt pocket and blindly handed it to her.

  “Brad, honey, are you going to sleep?” Ash asked in a low voice.

  “Nope. I’m just going to rest my eyes for a minute or two. Then I have to get back over to Tina’s office.”

  A moment later, Ash gently rubbed my shoulder and whispered, “Sweetheart, you need to wake up.”

  “I’m not asleep,” I replied, without opening my eyes. At the same time, I was dimly aware that my chin felt oddly cool.

  Ash chuckled. “You’ve been dead to the world for a couple of hours.”

  As I sat up and blinked in confusion at the church hall, I realized that I had indeed been sawing logs, and the reason my chin felt cool was that my mouth had been open and I’d been drooling. It was a real GQ moment. Wiping my chin with my hand, I said, “You should have woken me up.”

  “Honey, I figured that if you didn’t even stir when I sold our last few bears, you needed the sleep.” She handed me a cup of hot coffee that she’d gotten from the church kitchen. “Here. Drink this.”

  “Thank you.” I took a swallow of the coffee, which looked and tasted like furniture varnish. “And I suppose I needed the nap. What’s going on?”

  “Tina just called. She finished the warrant and is taking it over to the judge to have it issued. We have to go home so I can change into my uniform.”

  “What about our stuff here?”

  “We’ll take the cash box and come back for the other things later,” Ash replied as she slung her satchel over her shoulder. “I’ve already talked to Pastor Terry about it.”

  I pushed myself to my feet and gestured toward the mass of exhibitors’ tables. “What about the other bear artists? Won’t they be upset that we’re cutting out of here early?”

  “You’re kidding, right?” Ash leaned over to kiss my nose. “I’ve already spoken with most of them, and right now, I’m the most envied woman in the room. Most people only dream about doing this sort of thing.”

  As we slowly headed toward the door, some of our fellow artists and friends began to stand and clap. At first, I thought it just a public manifestation of thanks to Ash for the splendid job she’d done organizing the successful show. But as the applause grew, I understood that the crowd was expressing something more than appreciation. The artists and collectors knew that Ash was on her way to do something potentially life-threatening, and they wanted her to know how proud they were of her.

  I glanced at my wife and saw that her eyes were shining. She realized the motivation behind the applause, too. With her head ducked low, Ash gave the crowd a jerky wave as we went out the door.

  Outside, I asked, “How does it feel to be a hero?”

  “I’m not a hero.” She wiped her right eye.

  “You are to me and to all those women in there.” I motioned with my cane back toward the church community center.

  We went home and Ash quickly changed into her deputy’s uniform while I put my shoulder holster on. Then we drove to the sheriff’s office, where we saw a state police car and an Elkton PD cruiser parked in the lot. Tina had obviously called in reinforcements to help serve the search warrant. Inside, we found Tina and four cops in the small roll-call room, and once we took our seats, the briefing began. One of the officers was Trooper Fuller, who’d stopped me the previous day. I waved, and she kind of cringed.

  “Is that . . . ?” Ash whispered.

  “Yep, the only other woman who’s given me a massage since we got married,” I replied.

  “Hmm. I don’t know if I like the sound of that.”

  “Relax. If I can stay awake, I’ll let you search me for weapons later tonight.”

  Tina began the briefing. Like most good tactical plans, hers was simple. There’d be no lights and sirens as we approached the house. We’d roll in slowly and quietly. Once we arrived, three of the cops would rush to secure the sides and rear of the house while Tina, Ash, and Deputy Bressler went to the front door to make contact. If, after making knock and notice, there was no response from inside the house, it was Bressler’s job to smash the door in with the “Key to the City”—a heavy metal battering ram.

  My job was simple, too. Because I wasn’t a sworn officer, I’d drive the SUV and follow the small procession of patrol cars into the farmyard and remain by the vehicles until the real cops secured the scene. There was a time when I’d have chafed at the idea of being in the rear with the gear, but not now. I’ve kicked down doors and it’s exciting, but with my bad leg, I had no business being part of an entry team.

  A few minutes later, I was driving the last vehicle in a motorcade of police cars. We headed east and were soon approaching the Tice farm. Pulling into the farmyard, I noticed two vehicles parked near the house. There was a mud-spattered red Ford pickup truck, which I assumed was Wade’s, and a beat-to-hell gray Ford Tempo, which had to be Marilyn’s car. If the vehicles were any indicator, the Tices were home.

  By the time I came to a stop behind the cluster of patrol cars, the cops were already scrambling to their assigned posts. Their guns drawn, Ash and Tina were on the left side of the front door, while Bressler stood on the right, holding the battering ram. I got out of the SUV and took up a position of cover at the rear of one of the police cruisers. Meanwhile, Tina pounded on the door and shouted that she was the sheriff, had a search warrant, and was demanding entry. Tina waited perhaps five seconds for someone to answer the door, but when there was no response, she yelled at Bressler, “Do it!”

  As Bressler muscled the battering ram into position, Ash held up a hand, then reached over and tried the door-knob. The door was unlocked, and she pushed it open. After a brief exchange of surprised and sheepish looks, Tina and Ash charged into the house, shouting over and over again that they were with the sheriff’s office. Bressler dropped the ram onto the wooden porch with a crash and followed the two women inside.

  I was so focused on the dangers Ash might be facing as she searched the house for a possible killer, and so on edge, dreading the sound of gunfire, that I broke one of the cardinal rules of a police tactical operation. My head wasn’t in the game. That’s why I didn’t hear the rapid footfalls coming from around the corner of the barn until just before the person burst into the yard. It was Marilyn. She was charging toward the house, and it looked like she was carrying a rifle.

  Yanking my gun from the holster, I pointed it at her and yelled, “Marilyn, stop and drop the gun or I’m going to kill you!”

  Taken by surprise, Marilyn turned to look at me and stumbled to a halt. “I don’t have a gun!” she snarled.

  That’s when I noticed that the item in her hands wasn’t a rifle. It was a pitchfork—a lethal weapon in its own right.

  “You don’t have any hay to bale either, so drop the pitchfork.”

  She glared hatefully at me for a moment and then threw the tool to the ground.

  Fortunately, one of the cops on the perimeter noticed our little standoff, and I heard him call Tina on the radio. Ash and Tina emerged from the house a moment later and trotted over to where Marilyn stood. My wife grabbed the pitchfork while Tina ordered Marilyn to put her hands behind her head. Marilyn refused and made as if to walk away, a move she undoubtedly and instantly regretted. In a flash, Tina had the woman in a rear wristlock control hold that made my arm ache with pain just to witness it being applied. Holstering my gun, I hobbled over to where Marilyn now stood wearing handcuffs.

  Once Tina had made the formal notification that we were there serving a search warrant, she asked, “Where is your husband?”

  Marilyn tossed her head to move some strands of hair that had fallen across her face. “Figure it out for yourself, you cow!”

  Tina’s jaw tightened a little, b
ut she remained otherwise impassive. “Mrs. Tice, I don’t think you realize how serious this situation is. We’re investigating a murder, and we have solid proof that you and your husband lied to us.”

  “My Wade said he didn’t kill that miserable old son of a bitch, and I believe him. But I’ll tell you one damned thing: I wish he had, because Rawlins had it coming.”

  “Why?” Ash asked.

  “Because Rawlins sold us out like Judas Iscariot sold our Savior. The only difference was that Crawlin’ Rawlins was going to get six million bucks instead of thirty pieces of silver,” Marilyn hotly replied.

  As two pivotal puzzle pieces came together, I sighed and added, “Meanwhile, you and Wade were going to be left trying to run a farm next to a freaking amusement park. You’re right. Rawlins did betray you.”

  Marilyn turned to stare at me. “How . . . ?”

  “That isn’t important, right now,” I said. “But I think it’s time you told us what you saw when you were cleaning that hotel room up on the third floor of the lodge.”

  Twenty-two

  “Sherri Driggs’s room?” Tina asked.

  “Yes. Marilyn usually works on the second floor, but Linny told me that the dependable members of the housekeeping staff routinely have to cover for the flakes.” I glanced at Marilyn. “That’s why you were up on the third floor, right?”

  She nodded.

  “Which is how you learned that Rawlins was going to sell his farm,” I said. “Why didn’t you tell me about this yesterday?”

  Marilyn sagged and said despairingly, “How could I? The deck was already stacked against Wade, and I figured it would only make him look guiltier.”

  “You’re right, it would have. I imagine your husband was madder than a hornet when you told him that it wasn’t enough that Rawlins had cost you thousands of dollars by running your well dry, but now he planned to sell his farm to an amusement park company.”

  “Is that the reason Wade went over there on Thursday night?” Tina asked.

  “Wade was home—”