The bartender’s left arm was in a sling, but she gave the bar a swipe with a rag in her right hand. “Come on in, we’re open.”
One of the men in feed caps looked at Maxwell’s uniform and blanched. He stumbled off his bar stool and hurried toward the back where a crooked sign announced Restrooms.
“We’re looking for Kayla Rourke.”
The bartender squinted at us. “I don’t care what anyone says, I ain’t served no minors in here, and anyone who says so is a plain liar.”
When she spoke, I recognized her. She’d been at the bingo jubilee. As one of the younger faces in the crowd, I’d only done a cursory sketch of her.
“You were at the bingo jubilee,” I blurted.
“Yeah.”
“Are you Mrs. Rourke?” Maxwell said, giving me a quelling glance.
She snorted. “That’s my ex-mother-in-law. The old cow. I’m Kayla. What do you want?”
“Did you recognize the bingo caller?” I said.
“I’m not a hundred years old, I don’t follow bingo celebrities. But I do want to know when we’re going to finish the grand prize game. I could use that money.”
“What happened to your arm?”
“Broke it changing a light bulb.” Kayla shot a dirty look at the light over the pool table.
“When was that?”
“Last week. Why do you care?”
“Are you certain you didn’t recognize the man calling himself Fremont Cunningham?”
She gave the bar another swipe with the rag. “Yeah, why?”
“I’m afraid that wasn’t his real name,” Maxwell said. “His real name was Francis Rourke.”
Chapter 10
Back at the station, Maxwell added Kayla’s name to the murder board. Under her name he wrote ‘ex-wife’ and ‘alibi: broken arm’.
“Are you sure you didn’t recognize the parents?” he said.
“I’m sure. And are you suggesting they’d strangle their own son?”
“Most people are killed by someone they know.”
“You saw their lawn. They would never strangle him in a public venue, they care too much about appearances.”
Maxwell raised an eyebrow. “Look at Sherlock Holmes over there.”
“I prefer Hercule Poirot. Grandma Iris is Miss Marple.”
He laughed, then ran a hand over his face. “Now that we’re out of likely suspects, we’ll need some of that kind of sleuthing.”
“What about the murder weapon?”
“Haven’t found one.”
I pictured Rourke’s body, lying on the floor with the ligature mark circling his neck. “Any idea what kind of cord was used to strangle him?”
“I don’t have a full report back from the ME yet, but unofficially it was flat, synthetic, and about a half to three quarter inches wide.”
“Hmm. Not knitting yarn, and not a leather belt.”
“Right.”
“How much strength would it take to strangle someone that way?”
“With the right technique, not as much as you might think. For example, if the killer tied a knot in the center, and then wrapped the cord around their hands twice, that would make it easier. And with the right leverage. It looks like Cunningham was seated. If the killer came up behind him and braced a knee on the back of the chair, almost anyone could manage it.”
“Oh. I was hoping we could rule out all the seniors at the jubilee.”
Maxwell chuckled. “And leave just you and a scant handful of younger suspects? That would be nice.”
“Great, now I’m a suspect again? Sorry, Chief, but I have to go get ready for work.”
He laughed and waved me out.
All through the dinner shift at the café, I had thoughts of the proper technique for strangling someone running through my mind. I tried to picture any of the bingo players doing the deed. It felt impossible.
Halfway through the dinner service, the real Fremont Cunningham walked in the door. The hostess seated him at a little two-top in my section with a nice view out the front window.
“Good evening Mr. Cunningham, I’m Kelly, and I’ll be your server tonight. Are we waiting for someone?”
He smiled at me. “Please, call me Fremont. And no, I’m dining alone.” His voice was rich and melodious, giving me a sudden insight into just how someone could become a bingo calling celebrity.
“That’ll just give me more time to talk to you, Fremont,” I said, giving him my best customer smile.
“A pleasure to enjoy another of the charms of Marchville.”
“I’ll admit, I’m a little surprised you’re still here. I thought you could only stay a day or two with us.”
“The Andersons’ kindly offered to extend my stay, and I felt bad about my late arrival.”
“If I might ask, what was it that delayed you?”
Fremont made a self deprecating gesture. “I feel silly saying so, but it was a serious of ridiculous little things. The whole day felt like someone was pulling pranks on me.”
I pulled out the chair across from him and perched on it, wanting to hear more. “What kind of pranks?”
“Oh, a host of things. Someone cancelled my wakeup call at the hotel. I had to rebook on a later flight, but still would have made it on time except someone had cancelled my rental car. A stranger offered me a discount at his cousin’s car rental place, but it wasn’t at the airport, so I had to get a ride across the city. I still would have been on time, but about halfway through my drive all four tires went flat.”
“That is a lot of funny business.”
“It is. Oh, and someone at the airport picked my pocket. Stole my mobile phone. I was glad my wallet was in my bag or the day would have been even more of a disaster.”
I pulled out a piece of paper from my order pad and jotted a quick sketch. I pushed it across the table to Fremont. “You don’t happen to recognize this man, do you?”
His eyes went wide and his thick sandy eyebrows shot up into his hairline. “I could swear that was the man who sent me to his cousin’s car rental shop. Who is this?”
“His name is Kevin O’Leary. He’s a known thief and swindler, and he appears to have been working with the man who impersonated you. It looks like their plan was to send you away so they could come in your place and steal the prize money.”
A clatter behind me made me jump out of the chair.
“Could we get some extra napkins over here?” came the plaintive cry from the family with a toddler.
I rushed over to help mop up the spill. By the time I had the little one settled and happy again, Fremont was ready to order. We chatted a little as I took his order and brought out his dinner. His lovely manners made it a pleasure to return to his table.
Soon a fresh wave of diners filled the café and kept me hopping. As I glided through the dining room, refilling glasses and bringing menus, I considered what Fremont had told me.
O’Leary had delayed Fremont, but only enough for him to be late, not missing altogether. O’Leary was working with Rourke. They switched the money for phony, rather than take it and leave an empty prize chest. All that pointed to a plan to swindle the bingo players of Marchville and get away before anyone noticed anything. Fremont’s late arrival would provide more confusion. But something had gone wrong with their plan.
However bad a day Fremont had had, Rourke’s had been much worse. I thought of his body again and shuddered, then thought of Fremont stranded on the highway with four flat tires and no cell phone. How had he called for help?
I brought Fremont his check and posed that very question.
“I only had to wait a half hour or so before a passing motorist was kind enough to stop,” he said. “He used his mobile phone to call a tow truck for me.”
I was quietly glad that the Midwestern reputation for neighborliness hadn’t entirely let him down.
“Nice chap. The tow truck driver too. He did his best to get me back on the road quickly, which wasn’t easy with all four tires
flat.”
I nodded in sympathy.
“He even let me use his phone to call and let the committee know I was late. Because of course by the time the tires were changed, it was already the time I should have started calling the first game.”
A shock ran through me. “You called Marchville?”
“Indeed. I was fairly surprised to discover you had gone ahead without me.”
“I suppose no one got the message in time.”
“Oh no, I got through all right.”
“Oh!” I thought for a second. “How did you know the number, without your phone?”
He laughed. “You youngsters and your gadgets. I’d written it down, of course.”
My cheeks flushed pink, thinking how easily the invention of cell phones had changed my views.
“Let’s see, I have it here.”
Fremont took a slip of paper from his wallet and smoothed it out on the table in front of me. It had a Marchville phone number and a name. Shirley Morris.
Chapter 11
Grandma Iris was waiting for me in her new jacket with the reflective stripe on back. Buddy gave me a slobbery hello and then stood at the door wagging his entire back end in anticipation of our walk. We walked outside into the cooling darkness.
“How are you doing today?” I asked her.
She gave me a suspicious look. “I’m fine.”
“I’m glad.” I let out a sigh of relief. “We were worried about you?”
“We? Who’s we?”
“Well, me. And Maxwell.”
“You told Maxwell about my personal business?” She stopped and put a hand on her hip. “Kelly Marie Bordeaux, that was private.”
“Sorry! I didn’t think...”
“No, you didn’t.” She scowled and picked up the pace.
We walked along in silence for a minute. Buddy, as though sensing the tension, stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and whined at us. I knelt down beside him and rubbed his velvety ears.
“I’m sorry, Grandma Iris,” I whispered into Buddy’s sweet face.
“Aw, come here,” Grandma Iris said. She plucked at my sleeve and I stood. She enveloped me in a hug.
“I didn’t know it would upset you so much.”
“At my age, you can’t afford for people to be talking about you. Next thing you know they’re putting you in a home.”
“I would never.”
“I know. But you can see why I’d be a little touchy.”
I nodded. She gave me another little squeeze and we walked on.
“Now. What’s new with the investigation?” Grandma Iris said, changing the subject.
I knew I should wait until I’d talked to Maxwell about it first, but the news about Fremont calling Shirley was too good to keep to myself.
“You’ll never guess who I had as a customer tonight,” I said. “Fremont Cunningham. The real one, not the dead guy.”
“Not the dead guy? Good, I thought you might be talking about a haunted café, and nobody needs that.”
I laughed. “Grandma Iris, do you believe in ghosts?”
“No, but if you insisted they were real, I might have to try to start believing.”
We let Buddy sniff a tree trunk with the intense thoroughness of his kind. He gave a little woof of satisfaction and we moved on.
“Do you know what he told me?”
“What who told you?”
“Fremont.”
“Oh, it’s Fremont now, is it?” Grandma Iris gave me a nudge with her elbow. “And him single. You could do worse.”
“It’s not like that!”
“Oh, there goes my chance at a famous grandson-in-law. What did he tell you?”
“He told me why he was late.”
“Oh?”
“Car trouble, mostly. But more important, he said he called.”
“Called who? The triple-A?”
I lowered my voice. “He called Shirley Morris.”
“He did? Then why did that woman not hold off before having an impostor call the bingo jubilee games?”
“That’s the question, isn’t it. If she knew he wasn’t the real thing, why go through with the charade? And did she kill him?”
“Oh, this is juicy. Do you think she did it?”
“I don’t know yet. But knowing he was a fake could give her a motive. Do you think she had it in her?”
Grandma Iris thought for a minute before answering. “She’s been a thorn in my side for a long time, but I wouldn’t have expected her to turn out to be a murderer. I know everyone has their breaking point, but to kill a man over money? I wouldn’t have thought it of Shirley.”
We walked along, mulling that over and letting Buddy sniff every passing leaf and branch. I trusted Grandma Iris’s judgment, but I also trusted what Fremont had told me.
“What if he dialed the wrong number?” I suggested. “He could be telling the truth about calling, but actually spoke to someone else.”
Grandma Iris nodded eagerly. I got the feeling she didn’t want her old nemesis to be an actual murderer.
“Should we ask her?” I said.
“No, she’d be too offended by the question. Oh, I wish I still had her phone.”
“If you had her phone, then you’d have gotten that call, so it wouldn’t be relevant,” I reminded her.
The night had reached full dark, with a few stars peaking through the remaining leaves of the trees overhead. The streetlight at the end of the block was dark, and I realized we were almost at Shirley’s house.
Grandma Iris realized our location at the same moment. “We need to get our hands on her phone.”
“I don’t think our hunch would be enough for Maxwell to get a warrant.”
“I didn’t say anything about Maxwell. I said us.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “That’s her house right there. We could break in.”
“Grandma Iris! I’m not letting you break into anyone’s house.” My voice had dropped to a whisper too.
She looked crestfallen.
“But you could be the lookout.”
Her eyes lit up. “Are you going to break in?”
“Hopefully I won’t have to really ‘break’ anything, maybe a door will be open.”
Grandma Iris grinned at me. “Let’s go!”
After a quick discussion, we were ready. I went around to the back of the house. Shirley’s back door wasn’t open, but it also didn’t have a deadbolt. I rummaged in my pockets and located a pallet knife. I slid it between the door and the frame, and in seconds I had popped the button lock on the doorknob. The door opened for me and Shirley’s darkened mudroom beckoned.
I tiptoed into the kitchen. By the glow of the digital clock on the microwave, I could make out the room. Every surface was spotless, without so much as a dish left by the sink or a crumb by the toaster. Every magnet on the front of the fridge was lined up and precisely straight.
I pushed through the swinging door into the dining room and got lucky. Shirley had a charging station set up on the buffet. Lined up at right angles were a laptop, an eBook reader, and a cell phone. I grabbed the phone.
I was about to look at the call log in the phone app when a frenzy of barking started in the next room. Sparky!
I froze, hoping our plan would work.
On the front lawn, Buddy gave an answering volley of barking. The two dogs gave an operatic performance of bark and counter-bark.
“Sparky, that’s enough!” Shirley called from the bedroom. “Sparky!”
Sparky and Buddy continued their chorus.
Knowing I didn’t have much time, I opened the call log. I scrolled to the night of the bingo jubilee and took out my phone to snap a photo. I could compare the numbers and times later.
Just as I captured the photo, my phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number, but my finger was already on the screen from the photo app and I answered it.
“Hello?” a voice buzzed out of my phone speaker. I held a hand over it to try to muffle the soun
d. “Hello?”
“Is someone there?” Shirley called from the next room.
I shoved Shirley’s phone back on the buffet and scrambled out of the dining room, through the kitchen and mudroom and outside. I ran around the house and joined Buddy and Grandma Iris. Buddy was still barking with enthusiasm.
“Come on,” I stage whispered.
Grandma Iris and I scurried down the street. If it had been me holding Buddy’s leash, he’d have planted all four paws and stayed to bark. But for Grandma Iris he trotted along, tongue lolling out.
“Hello? Anyone there?” squawked the forgotten phone in my hand.
“Goodness sakes, Kelly, did you steal her phone?” Grandma Iris said.
“No, this is mine.” I held it up to my ear. “Hello?”
“Hello? Kelly?”
“Yes, who is this?”
“This is Nicole. Maxwell’s fiancée.”
My breath caught. I didn’t know they were engaged. “Uh, hi. What’s up?”
“Maxwell told me about the bingo jubilee and how worried everyone is.”
“Oh?” I suddenly felt a pang of insight into what Grandma Iris had meant when she said she didn’t like people talking about her.
“I want to help.”
I paused. “You do? How?”
“I’m a web designer. I thought we could put up an online fundraising page for the bingo society.”
I put my hand over the phone again and relayed the idea to Grandma Iris.
“That’s a good one, very modern and up to date. Tomorrow is a bingo society meeting, we could bring it up then.”
I told Nicole to come to the meeting and bring her fiancé, then hung up. Depending on what I found out from Shirley’s call log, I could have some news to share at tomorrow’s meeting too.
Chapter 12
Back at the house, Grandma Iris and I went into the kitchen, where the light was best. I put my phone on the table and brought up the picture of Shirley’s call log. We stared at the picture.
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