The Treacherous Teddy

by John J. Lamb

  As the bear drew abreast of our vehicles, its head swiveled in our direction and it half stumbled, surprised by our presence. The bear growled, and Kurt pivoted his upper body to point the revolver at the creature. That was all the opportunity I needed. I jerked my pistol from the shoulder holster just as Kurt snapped off a wild shot at the bear. There was a deafening crack and the yellowish-white geyser of muzzle flash from the revolver was blinding.

  Closing the short distance between us in two large and very painful strides, I pointed the business end of my gun right between Kurt’s terrified eyes and said, “Throw down the gun, young man, or I’m going to give you a forty-caliber lobotomy.”

  Kurt dropped the revolver. It bounced off the trunk of his Lexus and fell to the ground, where it would be relatively safe for now. I glanced to my right and couldn’t see the bear, so I backed away from Kurt and ordered him to raise his hands and slowly walk out into the yard. Meanwhile, the siren stopped and bright flashing lights suddenly illuminated the driveway as the patrol car arrived. The cruiser slid to a stop on the gravel, its headlights shining on a now-quaking Kurt.

  Ash shouted, “Brad, are you all right?”

  “I’m Code Four, honey. I’ll cover him while you take him into custody,” I replied, as I limped toward her. “And be careful. This desperado murdered his daddy and was ready to do the same thing to me.”

  I made a point of ensuring that Kurt could see my pistol pointed at his noggin as Ash searched him for weapons and handcuffed him. We squeezed him into the narrow backseat of the cruiser and slammed the door shut, and then Ash used her portable radio to notify the other responding units that everything was all right. Tina acknowledged the message and in another rare breach of radio discipline said it was a good thing that someone was fine, because she was on the verge of having a heart attack.

  As we walked back over to the Lexus to retrieve my cane and Kurt’s gun, I asked, “So, how did you know to come here Code Three?”

  “Sherri Driggs changed her mind about not talking and told me that she’d telephoned Kurt Rawlins on Thursday afternoon when the real estate deal went south. Kurt told her he’d drive down and promised that he’d get his father to sign the papers,” said Ash, shining her flashlight on the ground as she searched for the revolver.

  “Which means that this was the car Wade Tice saw pull up in front of the house, after he shot the arrow,” I said, pointing to the Lexus.

  “That’s what I thought, too.” She stooped to pick up the gun. “And then I realized you’d gone off to meet the killer alone. Thank God you called dispatch and told them where you were.”

  I slowly knelt to grab my cane. “And thank God you came as fast as you did.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he had the drop on me. He was on the verge of killing me and then ambushing you,” I said, taking her hand.

  Ash inhaled sharply. “But how did you get the gun away from him?”

  “With a lot of luck and a little help from an oversized teddy bear. You may not believe the rest of this story, but it’s the bear-faced truth . . .”

  Twenty-nine

  In crime fiction and cop TV shows, nobody ever sits for hours writing paperwork. Real life is very different. We had arrest reports to complete and evidence to log, not to mention the search warrant affidavits that still had to be written. It was after eleven P.M. when Tina called it a night and said it was time for all of us to go home. There was still at least a full day’s worth of investigative work in front of us, but after the last few days we were almost dazed with fatigue and it would have to wait. Work would resume tomorrow, after lunch.

  We drove by Tina’s folks’ house, picked up Kitch, went home, and were snug between the flannel sheets of our bed not long after. My last sensation before going to sleep was the faint yet delicious smell of Ash’s cinnamon bun-scented lip emollient.

  The following morning we woke up late and had a leisurely time over coffee and hot cocoa in our living room. Kitch was obviously glad to be home. By both breed and personality he isn’t a lap dog, but he’d climbed up into my easy chair with me. Meanwhile, Ash was on the sofa, curled up beneath a quilt.

  She said, “With all the craziness yesterday, I think I forgot to tell you something.”

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “Come tomorrow morning, Ev Rawlins’s dog Longstreet is going to be released from doggy jail. Tina told Sergei about him, and he’s decided he needs a dog.”

  “That’s good news. I don’t mind locking up people, but pets? That’s a whole other kettle of fish.”

  “I know. So who actually forged Everett’s signature on the escrow papers?”

  “We won’t know for certain until the questioned-document specialist examines the paperwork, but my money is on Kurt,” I replied, while scratching Kitch between his shoulder blades. “It was thoughtful of him to have the documents in his car.”

  Ash nodded. “It’s creepy to think that he took the documents from the house after he killed his dad.”

  “He won’t cop to it, but that seems to be the only way the papers could have been removed from the house.”

  “And if the escrow documents were forged, that means the real estate transaction is null and void. Amerriment doesn’t own Everett’s farm.”

  I nodded. “That’s the silver lining to this entire sordid spectacle. What’s more, with the PR nightmare of two murders linked to their theme park project, I don’t think Amerriment will try to build one of their carnivals around here.”

  Ash drank the last of her hot cocoa. “And could Kurt actually convince a jury that killing his dad was an accident?”

  “Unlikely. He’s going to have a huge problem selling the ‘oops’ defense to a jury. Kurt’s big problem is that he never called the paramedics. That’s hard to explain if skewering his papa was just an accident. Add the subsequent forgery, the false information he gave us—”

  “And his attempt to kill you.”

  “All of which contribute to showing consciousness of guilt. Bottom line: Kurt is going to be flipping burgers in the prison chow hall for a long, long time.”

  “Good,” said Ash, as she got up from the sofa. “I’m going to make myself some more hot cocoa. Can I refill your coffee?”

  “Please.”

  As I held out my cup, the telephone began to ring. We exchanged looks of dread. Folks don’t customarily telephone on Sundays before noon, so we both feared it was Tina inviting us to respond to a fresh calamity.

  The receiver was on the end table beside my chair, and I picked it up. The tiny ID screen showed that the caller was a J. Janovich, and I allowed myself to relax a little. I had no idea of who he was, but I could be reasonably certain he wasn’t calling to ask us if we’d like to get dressed and come look at a corpse.

  I said, “Hello, this is Brad.”

  “Mr. Lyon? I’m Jeff Janovich from Hawksbill Creek Realty. You don’t know me and I hope I’m not calling too early, but I left several messages on your phone yesterday.”

  “We were out all day and most of last night, and frankly we haven’t been in a hurry to listen to our messages. Why is it so important that you talk to me?” I sat up in the chair and pushed Kitch from my lap.

  “Because Miss Ewell’s instructions were that I was to contact you immediately.”

  “About?” I signaled Ash to come closer and listen in on the conversation.

  “About a home she might be interested in selling to you.”

  “And I’m supposed to believe that Elizabeth Ewell wants to do us a good turn? Look, Mr. Janovich, it’s been nice, but I’m going to hang up now and have another cup of coffee.”

  “Wait! Please!” Janovich implored. “It’s her understanding that you are looking for an older residence in or close to Remmelkemp Mill that could be renovated and converted into a teddy bear shop.”

  “I never mentioned that to her, so how’d she know?” I asked.

  “She didn’t say and, well, if you’ve ta
lked to Miss Ewell . . .” Janovich laughed nervously. “Well, then you know that mostly means listening, agreeing to her instructions, and not asking questions.”

  “That’s true.”

  “Anyway, she has instructed me to inform you that a Queen Anne-style Victorian home on Coggins Spring Road is available for sale. You may know the house. It’s across the street from the church.”

  Ash’s eyes widened and she blurted, “Oh my God, the old Dwyer house?”

  Janovich replied, “I assume that’s your wife I just heard? Yes, we are talking about the Dwyer property. Would you like to look at it?”

  Ash nodded eagerly and mouthed the words, It’s perfect .

  I said, “Yes. Give us a call back tomorrow morning and we’ll set up a time.”

  “Sounds good. I look forward to meeting you and Mrs. Lyon and showing you this very special property.”

  “Just one final question: Did Miss Ewell explain this sudden goodwill? It’s no secret around here that she doesn’t like us. She’d have to know we’d be suspicious.”

  “As a matter of fact, she said you’d ask something like that. I’m supposed to tell you that she still thinks you’re a pain in the . . . backside—”

  “I’ll bet that isn’t the word she used.”

  “But at least you’re an honorable pain in the backside and man enough to admit when you’re wrong.”

  “Tell her thanks, and that I’m not looking forward to doing business with her.”

  “I actually think she’ll enjoy hearing that,” said Janovich. “Talk to you tomorrow.”

  I hung up and there was perhaps ten seconds of silence as we exchanged joyous looks and large Christmas morning-style grins. Neither of us wanted to speak for fear of jinxing the unexpected good news. Meanwhile, Kitch sensed our happiness and decided to celebrate, too. He bounded over to his toy basket, picked up his favorite plastic squeaky toy, and began squeezing it between his jaws.

  Ash started up the stairs, and I asked, “Where the heck are you going?”

  “I’m going to get dressed. C’mon, let’s go look at the house,” she replied excitedly. “Call Mr. Janovich back and ask him to meet us there.”

  Janovich agreed to meet us there at noon. We loaded Kitch into the SUV and drove into town. It was easy to find the Dwyer house. Even though it was in need of a good pressure washing, the three-storied, pale yellow Queen Anne Victorian home was still the prettiest house in Remmelkemp Mill. Leaving Kitch in the Xterra, we got out and went to the front porch to look through the windows.

  After a while, Ash asked, “So . . . could we be open by the first week of December?”

  I squinted at her. “Honey, I’m as thrilled over this as you are. So, please don’t take this wrong, but are you nuts? That’s just over three weeks from now, and even if we agree on a price, it’ll take a month for escrow to close.”

  She waved at the air dismissively. “Escrow can close faster than that if both parties agree to it. Besides, I’ll bet we could get permission to start work as soon as we have a deal.”

  “That could be a really big project.”

  “I don’t think so. If the inside is in as good a shape as the outside, it won’t take that much work.” Ash pointed through the window. “The hardwood floors look fine, and there’s plenty of wall space to install nice wooden shelves.”

  “Okay, but what about the tiny issues of getting insurance, registering with the state tax board, and securing a county business license?” I asked.

  “I can handle those things while you work with Daddy to get the shop ready. And Tina told me that Sergei would help out in his free time.”

  “All right, maybe it’s possible we could open the shop in three or four weeks. Maybe. But why the rush?”

  “Because I want the shop open and running before Heather and Colin come here for Christmas,” said Ash, referring to our daughter and her fiancé. “I need to have the business startup out of the way so that we can start planning Heather’s wedding.”

  “Whoa! I didn’t know they’d set a date.”

  “I guess I’ve got to spoil a surprise. They’ve scheduled it for the end of May, and they plan to get married here. They were going to officially announce it to the family over the holidays.”

  I squeezed her hand. “Well, then I guess we’ve got our work cut out for us.”

  Ash looked up at me and fixed me with her Delft China blue eyes. “So, you think we can do it?”

  “I’m certain we can do it.” I leaned over to kiss her lightly on the forehead. “Hey, if there’s any one thing I’ve learned over our years together, it’s this: Once we put our minds to making something happen, nothing can stop us.”

  A TEDDY BEAR ARTISAN PROFILE

  Martha D. Burch

  My wife, Joyce, and I have long loved Martha D. Burch’s teddy bears. Whether it’s one of her traditional mohair teddies, a girl bear attired in a Victorian dress, or a costumed furry tribute to Theodore Roosevelt, we’re captivated by her creations. But back in the summer of 2007 Martha took her work to a new and incredible level of imaginative excellence. She began crafting exquisitely costumed and accessorized wizard-themed teddy bears, among them the Ice King mentioned in Chapter Five.

  The Ice King is real and stands with a handful of other bears on permanent display in our library. It was a one-of-a-kind teddy bear and one of my Christmas gifts to Joyce that year. In 2008, the Ice King received the Teddy Bear of the Year (TOBY) award for Best in Show. The prize was an enormous honor, but what makes the Ice King truly special is that our dear friend Martha created this gorgeous teddy.

  Martha lives with her husband, Jim, in Wisconsin, and she is a renaissance woman. She not only makes teddy bears, she plays guitar and sings in a popular bluegrass band, is a much-sought-after master of ceremonies for teddy bear conventions across the country, is a skilled auctioneer, and—of special import to a retired cop—even cooks homemade doughnuts. However, there’s a good reason why Martha is best known for her teddy bears. She’s been making stuffed animals for more than a quarter century and is one of the pioneers who helped make artisan teddy bears such a popular American collectible.

  Martha’s ursine odyssey began in 1983 when she wanted to give handmade Christmas gifts to friends and family. At the time, she didn’t know anything about the world of artisan bears, but she was drawn to the idea of making teddies. Using old coats and quilts from her mother’s antiques shop and employing a Steiff bear as a model, she taught herself to craft simple bears that pleased both her and the lucky people who received them.

  “Those early bears were really unsophisticated,” Martha recalled with a chuckle. “They had button eyes, no noses or mouths, and strings as joints for the limbs. For quite a while, I wasn’t aware that there was an artisan teddy bear community or shops that sold bear-making supplies. That was a good thing, however. It forced me to innovate and experiment.”

  Martha’s work soon became far more sophisticated, and she discovered the world of collectible teddy bears. She enjoyed being around other artists, loved the attitude of bear collectors, and soon established herself as one of the preeminent teddy artists in North America. Martha also became a fixture at bear shows across the country, and over the years she has had some touching experiences.

  For instance, a collector whose mother had recently died appeared at an Illinois teddy bear show and provided Martha with her mom’s photograph, old woolen coat, and eyeglasses. Her request was as simple as it was challenging: She wanted Martha to create a teddy bear to commemorate her mom. A month later, Martha took the completed bear to a Wisconsin teddy bear show, where the collector would pick it up.

  “I’d done my best, but I was worried, because I was trying to recreate her mom and you can never really be certain of how well you’ve realized someone else’s vision,” said Martha. “But I realized that I’d succeeded when I saw the lady. She was standing at the end of the aisle crying, because the bear really looked like her mom. It was a humbling momen
t. That’s the real payoff and what keeps me still excited about making teddy bears after all these years.”

  I’m glad to hear that. We live in a world that often seems pretty jaded. Yet Martha’s bears provide a spark of enchantment in our otherwise mundane lives. As she said, “We’ve lost a sense of ‘awe’ and ‘ahh,’ but we can bring magic into our lives if we just focus on the beauties around us.”

  Another way, I might add, is to have a few of Martha’s sweet bears in your home.

  Martha attends teddy bear shows throughout the United States. If you’d like to learn more about her wonderful bears and her event schedule, I invite you to visit her website at www.marthasbears.com.

  Afterword

  I regret to report that there isn’t any such event as the Massanutten Mountain Teddy Jubilee. However, one of the benefits of creating an imaginary bear show is that I can populate it with some of our favorite artists. Donna Nielsen, Pam Kisner, Darlene Allen, Ginger Brame, Gary Nett, MaryAnn Wills, Pat Berkowitch, and Donna Griffin are genuine bear makers, and we love their creations. I want to thank them both for allowing me to use their names and making the world a better place with their teddy bears.

  Furthermore, I want to offer personal thanks to our dear friend teddy bear artist Penny French for her gracious guidance and assistance. Although I write books set in the world of bear making, I’m merely a collector and couldn’t make a teddy if my life depended on it. That’s why I depend on Penny to ensure that I have my facts and nomenclature straight.