Mystery Bundle (Saints Preserve Us, Pray For Us Sinners, Murder Most Trivial)

by Leigh Ellwood

  “Time out,” Simons said. “We don’t think that. Neither of you are suspects right now.”

  “Right now,” Jason scoffed. “So why am I here instead of physics class?”

  “You actually want to be in physics class, son?” This from the formerly mute Detective Gross, his hands plunged into his pants pocket for loose change.

  “I have a final coming up and I need every minute.” Jason’s voice was more acidic. Dan noticed the look of shock on the detective’s face and winced. Maybe they weren’t suspects now...

  “Okay, then,” Detective Simons said calmly. He flipped a dollar from his own pocket toward Gross and asked for a Sprite. “Anything for you, son?”

  “A lawyer,” grumbled Jason quietly. The detectives appeared to ignore the crack.

  “The reason why we are here,” he explained, “is to find out if you,” he nodded to Jason, “or both of you, in fact, noticed anything suspicious the night you were at Jillian’s. Have you received any threats in the wake of Mr. Scarsdale’s death, or have you been approached by anyone threatening?”

  “I don’t know if this counts as suspicious, but there was a woman hanging around with Bart Scarsdale after the contest,” Dan noted. “Dark curly hair, about a head shorter than me...”

  Simons nodded and flipped through his notebook to consult some previous scratchings. “Yes, several employees at the Waterside confirmed the same thing. Unfortunately, nobody got her real name. She kept referring to herself as ‘Elaine Benes,’ that character from Seinfeld.”

  Jason shifted in his seat. What were the odds that the woman’s actual name was Elaine? What else did the detectives know about her? “Er, I got a phone call Saturday, but I figured it was a prank. I mean, my being in the paper was all over school, and we’re in the phone book. It could have been anybody here.”

  Detective Simons stiffened, and his partner casually approached with two cold soda cans. “What did the caller say exactly?” Simons asked.

  Jason repeated all three words. “I didn’t recognize the voice,” he added, “but I could tell whoever it was tried to disguise himself.”

  “Explain.”

  Jason shrugged. “It sounded phony, you know? Really high-pitched, like a five-year-old.”

  “Was anyone else who was at Jillian’s threatened as well?” Dan asked. “And how are you so sure that the two murders are related? One of them isn’t even in your jurisdiction.”

  Detective Simons wrinkled his brows. “Two murders?”

  “I think he means the one in Hampton,” said Gross. “The victim was also present at the Waterside that night.”

  “Oh,” Simons nodded. “Well, I don’t believe I mentioned anything about the Waterside murder being related to that of, Gordon Petersen, wasn’t it? As for anyone else receiving threats, we’re not at liberty to discuss particulars in an ongoing investigation.”

  Dan glanced at the stone-faced Detective Gross, who did not appear at liberty to discuss the weather, much less the investigation.

  “I think we’ve taken up enough of your time.” Simons glanced at his watch and pulled a business card from an inside jacket pocket in one movement. “In the event you encounter any more suspicious activity, give us a call.”

  Jason took the card, holding the corners by his thumb and forefinger pads. “Suspicious as in another crank call, or suspicious as in some maniac with a chainsaw and hockey mask trying to break down my door?”

  “We’ll see ourselves out.” Simons eased out of the booth, leaving behind his unopened Sprite. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay out of trouble, kid.”

  “He’s never been in trouble,” Dan called after them, frustrated. “It would be nice to know if he’s in any danger now!”

  The detectives left without another word. Dan took a bite of his candy bar and reached for the Sprite to cool down, but Jason hastily slapped away his hand.

  “What was that for?” Dan rubbed the back of his hand.

  “Maybe that cop left it here on purpose,” Jason whispered.

  “Why would he do that?”

  “Fingerprints!”

  “Why are you whispering?” Dan bolted out of the booth. “They’re gone, there’s nobody else here.” He snatched the can and popped the lid as Jason slid off the seat. “I’ll wipe the can when I’m finished if it’ll make you feel better.”

  Jason pressed his binder close to his chest. “What do you suppose they know about those two deaths? Why are they so interested in what’s happening with us?”

  Dan shrugged. If he started now he’d have a full half-hour left to prepare for the day. The time was just as valuable to Jason if he was serious about passing his final exam in physics. “I guess they know what the coroner’s crime scene reports say,” he said, “assuming the reports are done, and they know what clues were left at the scene. Maybe at both scenes, if they’re cooperating with the Hampton police.”

  “Clues?” Jason perked up. “If it’s true that the deaths are related, maybe some common things were found. Same prints, whatever.”

  “But why couldn’t they tell us if there was a common thread?” Jason was exasperated.

  Dan led his son to the exit. Paranoia must be contagious, he thought, as he peered out the doorway first for a glimpse of two dark suits. “They probably don’t want to taint their case by leaking too much information and possibly prevent an arrest.” He nudged his son’s shoulder. “You’re the one who watches Law and Order. I thought you knew all this stuff,” he added with a grin.

  Jason, however, treated him to a sad smile. “I’m beginning to wish I watched that show more than I did Trivial Matters,” he confessed. “The serial killers there are fictional...” He choked the last words and Dan drew him into a one-armed embrace.

  “Hey, sport,” Dan reassured him. “Nobody is out to get you, okay? These detectives were probably just checking every possible angle. For all we know somebody unrelated to the murders paid them crank calls, too.”

  “Maybe it was the same guy,” Jason mused. “That’s sick, man.”

  “No kidding.”

  He saw Jason to the end of the hallway leading to his physics class, then double-backed to the lounge. He slid back into the booth and hoisted his overstuffed vinyl briefcase to the almond-colored tabletop. Six sets of quizzes awaited grading and distribution throughout the day. An exhausting task, to be sure, but it would be a pleasant one considering the majority of them had received As and Bs thus far.

  There was also one last set of English term papers to grade, which he had been reading five at a time, accompanied by each students’ collection of note cards, outlines and rough drafts. The exercise would help Dan to gauge whether or not the students had learned proper methods of research in addition to writing a good thesis. Many would need the skills for college.

  He was about a third of the way through Caitlin’s ten-page paper on the Hudson River School of artists when the bell sounded. Dan rose from the booth with a sigh, gathered his belongings and loped to his own room. Edna Wallis greeted him in the hallway.

  “How goes the damage control?” he joked.

  Edna rolled her eyes and smiled. “I’m managing. I expected my kids to behave a little better than most, but then again they are teenagers.” She inched closer as students toting backpacks swarmed around them and passed inside. “I should have just left a VCR and tape set up. Surely the woman’s competent enough to push a single button.”

  Dan elected not to comment, for Bailey was good, at least, at pushing his buttons.

  Edna cocked her head back toward her classroom. “Come with me a second, before the bell rings,” she said and walked inside. Dan followed, acknowledging all the “Hey, Mr. Greeveys” from students he knew.

  “Look at this.” Edna gestured to her desk blotter, a large calendar face which took up much of the desk’s surface. Various peripherals—a cup of pencils, a tape dispenser, a stapler—bordered the month of May. Edna pointed to the top right corner at var
ious doodles and filled-in date numbers, done with heavy strokes of a blue ink pen.

  Dan shook his head at a bug-eyed dog smiling inside the box marking Memorial Day. He knew his colleague was not a doodler; she was not even the type to make notes to herself without using a Post-It note.

  “Did she scratch her initials on the chalkboard, too?” he asked sarcastically, glancing in that direction.

  “No,” Edna answered carefully, tapping the lower corner, “but she scratched this just above the copyright notice.”

  There, ensconced in a perfectly symmetrical red-ink heart, were the initials BS+DG. Dan remained still even after the late bell pealed.

  “What do you think, Dan?”

  Dan swallowed. “Well, she’s half right,” he said at last. “It’s all BS.”

  * * * *

  The remainder of the school day lumbered slowly without incident. Caitlin delivered a flawless recitation of Ovid for Dan’s Latin class, yet was unable to refrain from chatting clandestinely with her neighbor as other students took to the front of the room for their turns.

  “Miss Stevens,” Dan intoned, “there will be plenty of time to discuss prom accessories during lunch.”

  Caitlin blushed a deep pink as the class tittered in unison, but to show no hard feelings Dan threw her a friendly wink.

  “You’re going to the prom, aren’t you, Mr. Greevey?” Caitlin asked.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t miss it,” Dan said. “In fact, you won’t miss me, either, ’cause I’ll be wearing the same tux I wore to my senior prom.”

  He stretched his hands before him as if illustrating the fish that got away. “I’ll be wearing my powder blue monkey suit,” he added with a straight face, “with the widest lapels and the thickest shirt ruffles you’ve ever seen!”

  The boys in back howled while a few girls grimaced, apparently conjuring up an image of their teacher in such an outdated, ridiculous outfit. All Caitlin could say was, “Mr. Greevey!”

  “What?” Dan asked innocently. “I’ll be wearing a tie!”

  “Will it light up?” came a question from the back; a student gasping for breath managed barely to wheeze out the words.

  Dan studied his roll call sheet, ready to pick at random the next lucky student to orate in Latin. “Depends,” he murmured, “on whether or not I can find the right batteries. Okay,” he called over the rising laughter, “Franklin Voorhies, come on down!”

  * * * *

  Jason, too, let the morning’s unpleasant business be displaced by academic concerns and happier thoughts, and he was actually smiling and carousing with Gooch when Dan caught him heading toward the cafeteria.

  “You alright?” Dan called to him over the din of hungry high-schoolers. Jason turned and stepped backward up the hallway to his father.

  “Feelin’ fine. Hey, I’m studying with Gooch at his place after school. That okay?”

  “Be home for dinner.” Dinner happened around six most days, though there was never a set time anymore. It depended largely on how much microwave cooking time was required.

  “Right.” Jason disappeared with a waving Gooch around the corner. Dan did not see him for the rest of the school day. Willie was hosting a meeting of the Creative Writing Club for the purpose of electing new officers, so he knew also not to expect to see her at the end of the day as well. The disappointment was appeased slightly with the note he found on his desk after lunch.

  Coffee and cake and Cleopatra? it read in a familiar slanting scribble. See you at seven.

  Dan smiled to himself and tucked the note in his pants pocket. Willie would arrive well before seven, he knew, since the Cleopatra special on the History Channel she wanted to see started then. He made a mental note to rid the hallway floor of dirty laundry when he got home. No doubt Ringo had made himself a bed of Jason’s discarded t-shirts and boxers.

  When Dan pulled the car into his driveway, though, he noticed the dog was alert with tail wagging, his black nose pressed against the living room picture window. Dan smiled, convinced dogs were probably aware of the concept of time.

  The barking started the second the car door opened and Dan’s worn black leather shoe touched gravel. “Hang on!” he shouted toward the house, lugging his briefcase out of the car. “I’m coming, boy. Just don’t water any plants.”

  Normally the beagle would then have disappeared from view to meet Dan at the kitchen door, whining and glancing intently at the hanging leash. Not today. Ringo remained howling at the window, stretching his paws against the glass in a feeble attempt for balance, as if he were trying to escape.

  “Ringo?” Dan set down his briefcase and stepped onto the front porch. “What’s wrong, boy? Go to the kitchen. I’m on my way there.”

  He checked the mailbox. Empty, and neither Dan nor Jason had left anything to go. That, however, could not explain this change in Ringo’s behavior; he was normally complacent whenever visitors arrived to ring the bell.

  Dan glanced around the seldom-used porch, his gaze falling upon the filmy motel-style neon green metal chair and matching table, the varnished wooden floor, and a pair of mud-crusted sneakers Jason left behind to dry after a particularly sloppy day of touch football with his friends. Crime was not uncommon in the area, but nothing looked to be disturbed.

  “Nothing wrong here, boy,” Dan began loudly, then stopped upon noticing the screen door was slightly ajar. A large manila envelope was wedged in the corner.

  There were no markings on the envelope to indicate whether it was for him or for his son, and the flap had not been moistened. Dan pried the clasps together and opened the envelope, extracting an enlarged photocopy of the newspaper photo of the trivia contest winners.

  “Oh, please,” Dan muttered, but his annoyance quickly became shock as he noticed the faces of Bart and Gordon had been marked with thick black Xs. Jason’s head was circled in red.

  Dan swallowed. Blood red, it appeared.

  Chapter Ten

  After school, Jason proposed to Gooch a study date for final exams that was not really going to be a study date for final exams, and his friend obligingly drove to the nearest ATM. Usually these outings took them to the nearest music store or pizza place, learning being the farthest thing from either of their minds.

  Gooch nosed the Mustang around the corner of Colley Avenue and 21st Street and looked to Jason for instructions. “Where to first? Warehouse Music or the CD Exchange?”

  “Well, actually,” Jason faltered, feeling guilty for having led his friend out under false pretenses. “I had something else in mind.” With that, he briefly relayed his plan for the afternoon, which involved neither music nor pizza.

  “Oh, man, I don’t know,” Gooch wheezed. “All that lime dust I inhaled today at PE...I don’t think I should be running around. Why don’t we just hang out at my house? We can have a rematch on Guitar Hero.”

  Jason glanced at his backpack sitting in the backseat then looked at his friend impatiently. “The way things are going, bud, I might be at your house every night playing Guitar Hero.” He summarized for his friend the detectives’ visit.

  Gooch whistled. “Man, that’s serious! You think there’s really a serial killer out there?”

  “I think those detectives know more than they’re willing to admit to me. One of them got a funny look in his eye when I mentioned the prank call. I’ll bet you some of the other trivia finalists have been getting them, too.”

  Gooch raised his eyebrows. “So, hiding from the boogeyman, now, eh?” he said. “Shall we stock up on Cheetos and bullets?”

  “Tempting, but I’ll feel much safer when the cops nab this guy, and I wonder if they’re even close.”

  “Have some faith, man. They’re probably planning a stakeout right now at Hooters.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.” Jason spotted friends and classmates strolling up 21st Street and waved as the car slowed to allow a minivan to pull out onto the road. “Hey, let’s stop at the Van Wyck first.” He pointed in the direction
of Ghent’s public library branch. “I need to look up something.”

  Gooch signaled for a left turn. “Okay,” he said cautiously. “This something wouldn’t have to do with solving these murders on your own, would it?”

  “Of course not.”

  Gooch relaxed.

  “I’m not doing this on my own,” Jason said. “That’s why you’re here to help.”

  Gooch sighed.

  * * * *