Bingo You're Dead

by Lou Fletcher

  The intensity of Perry’s anger toward his sibling jolted me back to the scene at Alice’s wake, when I walked in on Perry in the men’s restroom. “Perry, do you recall the night of Applebee’s accident?”

  “Yeah, so what?”

  “You followed him into the restroom?”

  He eyed me suspiciously.

  “Then Applebee’s brakes give out and he almost drowns.” My words hung in the air like an axe waiting to fall.

  “Hank, I told you before I didn’t want you to go there.” Applebee’s face was ashen.

  “I’m saying Perry was the last person alone with you before you rolled into the pond. I’m saying that Perry was in the ceramics room, also alone, right before we discovered Gus’s cane and those mysterious reports, hidden in the kiln. Coincidences?”

  Perry got slowly to his feet. He took a long, hard look around the room as if he needed to memorize each of our faces in detail. Then he spoke in a clear voice, “I may be a lot of things,” he said, his voice breaking, “but I could never...” He hung his head and shuffled out of the room.

  Herb B. had been sitting in the corner, arms crossed and totally bored if his audible sighs and yawns were any sign. “Well, Sherlock, I guess you blew that one,” he said as Perry left. “Now everybody beat it. I have stuff to do.”

  I put my feet up on the desk to annoy him further. “We still have the business of Gus’s computer, his cane, and the papers.

  Herb B. perked up. “What do you mean, papers?”

  “Earlier today, I found Gus’s computer hidden in the Christmas decorations in the ceramics room. Next, Gus swears he had his cane with him when he went out to move his car, but when he came to in the car, hours later, it was gone. We find it, hidden in the kiln in the ceramics room, which is also where we found Perry.”

  “Get to the part about the papers.”

  “We found spreadsheets with the center financials in the kiln. We haven’t found the ads for fancy new RVs, yet but I’m confident they’ll turn up.”

  “Where are the spreadsheets now? They shouldn’t be floating around for everyone to see. Give them to me, Hank.”

  “Easy, boy,” I said. “Don’t get your shorts in a knot. They’re in good hands.” Applebee reached under his seat and handed the papers to me.

  Herb B. made a grab for the packet but I held it over my head. “Hold on a minute, I think we should take a look at these together. After all, it’s all our money, right, guys?” I turned to Tippi and Applebee, who nodded in agreement.

  “You planning to help yourself to a little extra dough, Robin? Buy yourself a fancy new RV and leave town?” I was only halfway joking. “Steal from the rich, give to the poor? You being the poor, naturally.” My pent-up anger at him was taking a nasty turn. I was ashamed for letting it get to me but couldn’t stop myself.

  “I don’t know anything about an RV,” he said finally. “Maybe Perry? He’s the one you found with them.”

  “No, he wasn’t. We first saw them yesterday after lunch,” Tippi spoke up. “They were sitting alongside Gus’s laptop with these budget reports in the conference room.” She turned to Applebee. “You were working with Gus on the reports from the kazoo competition. Didn’t you see them?”

  “No. I would have asked him about it if I had,” Applebee said.

  Meanwhile, Herb B. had snagged the papers out of my hand and slipped them into the shredder.

  “Why’d you do that?” I demanded.

  “Everything’s in the computer where it going to stay. Gus is going to hear about this incident from me. It’s just plain irresponsible.”

  “Maybe you should fire him,” I shot back. “Or cut his pay. Oops, I forgot. He works for free,” I shouted.

  Guenther opened the door and called in, “Stopped snowing.”

  TWENTY-FOUR

  We all moved to the front door to see the last few snowflakes settle onto drifts that had blown waist high in places. It was already 5 p.m. and darkness was closing in but I could make out the outlines from the lights on the police and fire stations across the field. We’d be stuck here at least one more night before it would begin to be safe enough to set out.

  “I think I’ll try to talk some more with Perry,” Tippi said once she resigned herself to another night in the center.

  “I’ll get back on the air,” Applebee said. “Get an update on cleanup efforts.”

  Herb B., Guenther and I watched as the Sheriff’s and fire departments lit up with officers and other personnel shoveling the drives and digging out vehicles and equipment. A long night of work stretched before them. I debated whether I should have Applebee radio Sheriff Grange to come over so I could run my concerns by him. I decided against it as I thought the confinement must have been sparking an imaginative streak in me that I’d never known was there. Besides, the sheriff would have his hands full with the aftermath of the storm. I squashed the fears that nagged at me, convinced myself I was losing it from lack of sleep and stress and tried to prepare for one more night with the ghosts in my imagination.

  “I need to talk to you,” Herb B. said to Guenther, motioning towards his office. The two went inside and shut the door. I heard the lock click.

  I dug a couple of Oreos out of my pocket to hold me until dinner and headed back to the ceramics room for some solitude and to write up a timeline of events. I was staring at my notes when Tippi entered.

  “How’s it going?”

  “Trying to get things straight in my head,” I said and showed her my notes.

  “Sums it up,” Tippi said after a moment, “but maybe there are a couple of other things we ought to include.” She took my pen and added:

  ‘Alice’—murder victim number 1.

  ‘Applebee’—attempted murder.

  ‘Gus’—victim number 3?

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Now the nagging little itch, which had crawled into my brain like a bedbug under the skin, demanded to be scratched. Was it possible that whoever had killed Alice had also gone after Applebee and then Gus? If someone were intent on harming our members, why? Who?

  “We know for sure Applebee’s brakes were disabled,” Tippi pointed out.

  “Maybe somebody with a sick sense of humor went too far.” My last sliver of hope was disappearing even as I spoke.

  “Really sick,” Tippi said. “We don’t know what really happened to Gus. It’s a miracle he survived.”

  Tippi’s words hit me like a bolt of lightening. “If the person who murdered Alice and tampered with Applebee’s brakes also arranged Gus’s accident, then that person is right here among us,” she finished my thought. “Somebody could be Joe. Or Perry. I don’t care how pathetic he is. We have to face it, Hank.”

  “Give up on your theory that somebody is out to sabotage the kazoo competition?” I asked.

  “Not entirely, smarty-pants. It still is a possibility, although it does seem a little less likely,” she admitted. “But,” she added, brightening, “don’t forget, there’s still the love-scorned angle.”

  “Maybe, except for Gus and Applebee. How does your crime of passion theory fit with them?”

  “I don’t know. My head hurts. What do you have in your pocket?”

  “Why, Tabitha Marie, I thought you’d never ask.”

  “Perv,” she said, smacking away my notes. “I need chocolate. NOW.”

  I checked my sweater pockets and managed to salvage one smashed mini-Butterfinger.

  “You’re in luck,” I said, handing over the trophy.

  “This is from last Halloween,” Tippi said as she peeled off the wrapper. “You bought Butterfingers because they’re your favorite, even though I like peanut butter cups.”

  “Do you want to talk about candy or get back to the matter at hand?”

  “Both matter, Hank. If you don’t even care enough...”

  “Tippi!”

  “All right.” She popped the candy in her mouth and made a face.

  “What about Herb B? Personally, he
’s the one I’d like to see in prison.”

  “He is swarmy,” Tippi said, “and physically he’s in good shape, but I don’t think he’d have the balls.”

  “I don’t really think so, either.” I doodled some names on my paper. “You’re right, Perry would be a possibility. And there’s still Joe. He did have the opportunity, but I don’t see why he’d want to go after Applebee or Gus.”

  “Add Mary,” Tippi said.

  “Mary?”

  “Don’t play favorites with the men, Hank. It could be a woman.”

  “Why in the world would Mary want to kill Alice? Or Applebee, or Gus? That’s too far out, Tippi. Even for you.”

  “Mary has a thing for Joe. Maybe she snapped and clobbered Alice. She probably just wanted to get her out of the way and wound up killing her by mistake.”

  “You’re losing it and I’m out of chocolate.”

  “Laugh if you want, but it’s possible. Back in the day, she played shortstop for two years with the All-American Girls Professional Baseball League—the Racine Belles of Wisconsin. Also, she throws discus and javelin in the Ohio Senior Olympics every summer. Heck of an arm.”

  “How do you know this stuff?”

  “I’m interested in people, Hank. I care.”

  I admit I was skeptical. I guessed it was more about gathering material for her comedy routine than anything.

  “While we’re on the subject of people.” She batted her eyes in a vain attempt to be coy.

  “What?” I snapped. The whole idea of listing names of people I considered friends as suspects in—I didn’t even know what. Murder? Attempted murder? Bad pranks gone haywire? My comfortable little world was coming apart and I was pissed off.

  “It’s about Perry, Hank. Remember I said I was going to talk to him?”

  “Right.”

  “You’re not going to believe this,” Tippi said. “Perry and Guenther are really blood brothers.”

  “What? You have to be kidding. How is it possible?”

  “It’s not only possible, it’s true.”

  “How long did you intend to sit on this little tidbit, Tippi?” I stood up, knocking over my chair.

  “I’m sorry. It wasn’t deliberate.” She reached for my hand.

  I sat back down. “What’s the story?”

  “Right after Guenther’s wife ran off, Perry said Guenther was having a hard time, felt he was the butt of a lot of jokes because of the circumstances. Of course, he was right, I mean the organ repairman, how is that not hilarious?” Tippi sighed. “Remember, I was going to use it in my act at Giggles but thought better of it.”

  “I admire your restraint. Go on.”

  “Perry said he didn’t have any close friends and neither did Guenther. So, after Guenther’s marriage fell apart, the two of them started hanging out together.”

  “I was just thinking about those two when we were all in Herb B.’s office. About how I’d noticed them leaving the center together when Guenther got off work. It was just lately though. Maybe the past month?”

  “Hmm, good eye, Hank,” Tippi scoffed. “Do you want to hear this or tell me how smart you are? Again.”

  “Sorry. Go on.”

  “Thanks. Well, one day Perry was at Guenther’s house and he noticed a picture of two young boys and a woman holding a newborn baby. Right away, Perry recognized himself and the woman as his mother. He was eight at the time the picture was taken. It was the same year he went to Ada’s as a foster kid.

  “When he asked Guenther about it, Guenther told him the woman was his mother. Said her name was Mavis, and he was the baby in the photo. He told Perry how he and his brothers had been separated as children and a family living on a farm near Bloomington, Indiana adopted him. His adopted parents named him Guenther. When he got older he asked his adoptive mother about his birth family, but it upset her so much, he let it drop.”

  I was learning a lot about the world of foster care and adoption. “Wow, I had no idea this stuff went on. I feel like I’ve been living in la-la land.”

  “You have been,” Tippi said.

  “So Perry put it together that he and Guenther were brothers.”

  “Half-brothers,” Tippi corrected. “Mavis was a drug addict and a prostitute. Different men fathered all three of the boys. Apparently Mavis wasn’t too careful about using birth control.”

  “How did Guenther find this stuff out about his background?”

  “Guenther admitted to Perry that he was always wild. He did some awful stuff when he was a kid. Said he spent his teen years getting into trouble, including one incident involving a younger girl on the school bus. Perry didn’t get the details and Guenther claimed it was a setup, but it landed him in Juvenile Detention. He was fifteen when he went in and seventeen when he was released.”

  “Wow, that’s a heck of a story. What about the photo?”

  “Guenther’s adoptive mother had it all along. The adoption agency gave it to her along with the baby, advising the couple to give it to him when he was old enough to hear about the adoption. This particular agency believed in providing kids with information about their birth parents and the option to make contact if they chose.”

  “I thought you said the adoptive mother refused to talk with him about his background.”

  “She wouldn’t. When Guenther came back from juvie, his adoptive dad had had enough. He packed up Guenther’s clothes, threw in the picture, and told him to get out. I guess ugly words were exchanged, including telling Guenther how he was just like his no-good mother. Told him she could have him back and he’d probably find her hanging out on a street corner in downtown Cincinnati.”

  “Had to be tough to hear. Especially for a teenager.”

  Tippi agreed. “At least Guenther had a place to start looking for his birth mother. And he did. He managed to track her down living on the streets and dying from a whole host of diseases. She had TB, hepatitis and a heroin addiction. Guenther was just a kid, with no job, no money, and nowhere to turn. Although he wanted to help her, he didn’t know how.”

  “Sounds like a TV special.”

  “Guenther made the rounds of the social service agencies and had one door after another closed in his face. The only good thing that came out of his effort was a referral he received to the County Shelter for Homeless Men. A social worker at the Salvation Army helped him fudge a bit on his story because the minimum age for admittance was eighteen and Guenther was two months shy.”

  “What about his mother?”

  “She died a couple of weeks after Guenther caught up with her, so he was all alone except for the other men at the shelter. While he was there, he was assigned to cleanup and general maintenance around the place. He discovered he had a talent for fixing things; if it had a motor, a wire, or a pipe, he could make it work. He also started a small garden on the grounds and eventually grew most of the vegetables used at the place. The shelter couldn’t pay him a salary, since technically he was a resident, but he did stay on for two years. He earned his room and board, bus fare, and twenty dollars a month spending money. By the time he left, he had marketable skills and the seed of self-confidence was planted.”

  “Did Guenther ever try to find Perry? Or did Perry ever look for Guenther?”

  “We didn’t get that far but I’ll try again. I think by the time we finished talking, he felt safe in confiding to me.”

  “I’m impressed.”

  “Yes, Guenther has overcome a lot.”

  “No, I mean I’m impressed with you—getting Perry to share such personal information about Guenther—and himself.”

  Tippi blushed. “Merci beaucoup, monsieur,” she laughed. “You know what they say—old social workers never die, we just keep sticking our noses in other people’s business.”

  TWENTY-SIX

  After dinner, I stuck my notes in my pocket and went in search of Applebee for the latest on the storm and cleanup efforts.

  He reported that emergency crews would first target t
he hospital grounds and the primary roads. Goose Down Rural Electric was just starting to dig out but refused to estimate how long it might take to restore power to the town. Customers providing emergency services would be first, followed by business customers, and, finally, residential. A Level 3 road emergency remained in effect, so no unauthorized vehicles were allowed on the roads. In short, we were likely to be stuck at the center until sometime tomorrow at the earliest.

  Applebee left to update the others, while Mr. Wittekind roped me into calling another game of bingo.

  “Only if you promise to lay off the cracks after each call,” I warned him.

  “Sure thing, Hank,” he said, winking.

  “I’ll take the dog out,” Tippi said. “You gotta go.” She shook the puppy out of a deep sleep. Frenchie snapped in answer, deliberately missing her fingers.

  “I’ll go too. You set up the room and I’ll be right back,” I told Wittekind, while I slipped into my coat.

  A blast of snowy air smacked us when I pushed open the door, scaring Frenchie, who leaped out of Tippi’s arms and ran into the dusk. The movement activated the security lights on the side of the building. We followed the dog down the snowy path and around the corner to the construction site for the new media room.

  “Mon Dieu,” Tippi puffed. “When I catch you, I’m going to wring your neck, you little fur ball.” At the very same moment, she tripped over a snow-covered coil of wire, and fell down with a thud. Frenchie turned and trotted back, sensing a game. The puppy climbed onto Tippi’s lap and licked her face.

  “You okay?” I said, reaching down to help.

  “Uh-oh.” She grimaced when she tried to stand. “I think I twisted my ankle. I better sit a minute.” She lowered herself onto a wooden construction horse. She tried turning her ankle slowly from side to side, but I could see it beginning to swell. “This is a revoltin’ development you got us into, Ollie,” she said in Frenchie’s ear.

  “Shh, listen.” I held my finger to my mouth. Two men were arguing as they approached the site. In the dim light, I could distinguish the bulky silhouettes of Guenther and Perry just a few feet away. Luckily, the light was aimed away from the corner where we sat. We watched them go into the makeshift toolshed on the other side of the room. I hoped Frenchie would stay put as I crept closer toward the door. I heard a grunt and what sounded like a heavy object being moved.