"How did you change places?"
"I excused myself and went into the bathroom. We changed shirts inside and Bob Bob walked out of there as me a few minutes later."
"Where were you when Bob Bob and Chip got attacked?"
"I don't know, because I don't know exactly when they got attacked."
I turned to look at Jeremiah to see if he wanted more questions on this topic. He barely shook his head--so slightly that Jim Bob didn't even notice it. But I did.
"Tell us about your relationship with Missy Hen."
"What?" He appeared off balance, just like I wanted him to be.
"Tell us about your relationship with Missy Hen," I repeated.
"I told you already. We had a physical relationship during the convention each year, and it was good." He looked away, turning red. "It was so good, that we broke the rules and met outside of the convention."
"Did you get together after last year's convention?"
"No. She didn't answer her phone. I tried several times, and left her some voicemail messages, but she never got back to me."
"Tell us about the last time you had sex." I wanted to be very clear, so I avoided using the term "get together" again.
"I guess it was the last night of last year's convention."
"Where did it take place?"
"What do you mean?"
"Her room, your room, the kitchen...where?"
"Her room, I guess."
"And where in the motel was that located? Bear in mind we'll check the motel records."
"I don't know the room number, but I remember that it was the last room down at the end of the hall, on the left." He pointed, indicating the hallway where Clancy had found the bloodstains. I could feel Clancy tense up, just as I tensed up. Both of us felt vibes at the same time, it seemed.
"What time did you leave her? And what was her condition the last time you saw her?"
"I guess I left around 2 or 3 in the morning. Her condition? Well, she was smiling." His smarmy grin was repugnant, but I ignored it and went on.
"When did you notice she was missing?"
He hesitated for a moment. "I guess it was when she didn't show up for the conference this year. I mean, she didn't answer her phone or email after last year's, but I thought she just must have found someone else, and other than a blow to my vanity, I didn't think too much about it. She didn't register early like she had in the past. But I wasn't too concerned until she didn't show up for on-site registration. She'd never missed a convention before."
I looked him straight in the eye. "Why didn't you report it then?"
"I didn't know anything was wrong. Thought she must have fallen in love with someone, and didn't need this as an...um, outlet."
Clancy emitted a soft whine, which meant something. I just didn't know what.
I turned around in my chair. "Sheriff, do you have any other questions?"
"Just one," he said, and leaned forward quickly. "Jim Bob, did you murder Missy Hen?"
The sputtering that emanated from Jim Bob's mouth would have been funny to see, if it hadn't been such a serious topic.
"I...I...you...how..." Finally Jim Bob gulped, and with a panicked look still on his face, he said, "I didn't kill Missy. I didn't kill anybody." He then collapsed back into his chair.
Weird. Odd. But he'd been odd since I met him. And this entire situation had been weird. Jim Bob certainly got my vibes going. But was he the killer? I couldn't tell. I kept the possibility percolating in the back of my head as we prepared to go on to the next interviews.
George joined us in the meeting room right after we finished with Jim Bob. He reported that nothing unexpected had come out of Wilma's brother's interview. Johnny didn't normally leave the house, and even in the chicken suit he didn't feel comfortable talking to other people. George said he didn't think Johnny was a likely candidate for the killer.
One by one we went through the flock of chickens. After Jim Bob's interview, the sheriff let me see people alone. He probably had thought I'd come off all social worky, but I found it easy to go to a "cop mode" instead of a therapist mode.
So with three of us working, we were able to finish in good time. And I had the added advantage of Clancy sitting in on my interviews. Her calm demeanor let me know she didn't have a problem with the rest of the group. The sheriff interviewed everyone that had come with us from the funeral home except for Jim Bob. It seemed likely that the killer was in that group. Why hadn't Wilma and Luigi admitted they'd gone to part of a chicken conference until we pressed them on it? Why hadn't Bob Bob said he'd worn the chicken outfit before? Somebody had something to hide.
As we all sat down to touch base after the interviews, something occurred to me. "That second feather that had someone else's DNA--that didn't match Missy Hen's--do you think Wilma had it checked?"
"Good instinct," said the sheriff. "I'll follow up on that."
"Yeah," I said. "We don't know that it came from Missy's outfit. It might have come from the killer's. And I wonder what happened to her chicken suit. It certainly wouldn't have disintegrated."
"Already on that," said Jeremiah. "I contacted the authorities in Springfield, Missouri, where she lived. They're going to check out her apartment for us since we're so shorthanded." He picked up his notebook and pen and stuffed them in his uniform pocket. "Let's go back to my office and talk about what we've learned."
"I'll stop at the diner to pick up some food for us. I'm starving. Then I'll meet you at the jail." Both guys gave me their orders and jumped in the sheriff's car, and I took George's car.
Leaving Clancy in the car, I walked back to the diner. As I passed some bushes in front of the windows I tripped and landed uncomfortably on my face on the sidewalk. Tears came unwillingly and I could hear myself saying, "Ow, omigod that hurts. Ow." I could hear the faint yips coming from my closed car and so I yelled, "I'm okay, Clancy. I'm okay." The yips stopped.
I looked back to see what I'd tripped on and saw a leg. It was a leg I recognized because it was wide and I knew it was connected to an obese body with a skinny face. I belly crawled back to him and prayed silently that he wasn't dead. As I got close I heard him breathing--laboriously and loudly. I searched around on the ground for my phone and called George immediately.
"Get Wilma. I'm in front of the diner. Barclay is here and he's hurt." I paused for the inevitable question. "No, I don't know what's wrong. I just know he's lying here and he's hurt. Hurry."
It seemed like forever before Wilma's truck pulled up, but it was probably only a matter of minutes. Bob Bob and Chip were still with her, and they jumped out of the back seat. Wilma's truck was followed quickly by the sheriff's car, which discharged Jeremiah and George. And it wasn't long before Luigi and Jim Bob walked over separately from the front door of the diner. I guessed it was Jim Bob since he didn't have any calamine lotion on him. I realized in the midst of this chaos that I could finally tell Bob Bob and Jim Bob apart. One had beautiful pink skin and one did not. I found it amusing.
My amusement ended abruptly when Barclay came to. He had a big red bump on his forehead, but he sat his bulky body upright and said, "I know who killed the chicken."
CHAPTER TWENTY
Everyone started talking at once. It was so loud I couldn't tell who said what. My vibes were causing my heart to beat a syncopated rhythm and Clancy was shaking from excitement.
Most of us were yelling, "Who is it?" or "How do you know?" But I heard a voice say, "No, you don't."
No, you don't know who killed the chicken? Is that what it meant? Who said that? "Shut up!" I yelled.
And just like that, it got quiet.
"Thank you," Wilma said, glancing up at me. She turned her attention to Barclay, "What happened?"
I couldn't believe she didn't ask who killed Missy. Why ask, "What happened?" when she could solve the murder right then and there?
Of course, she was there as a doctor, not a cop. Her main concern was Barclay's health. Did someone hit him
over the head? Did he have a heart attack and hit his head when he fell? Maybe the killer wanted him silenced. But I was determined to solve the mystery before that happened.
"Just tell us who killed Missy and how you know it."
Barclay looked at the faces gathered over him. His eyes had fear written in their gaze. Then all at once they lost focus and he passed out.
"Get him in my truck," Wilma commanded and everyone complied. It took all of us to get Barclay's hefty body into the truck. With much pulling and pushing at the end. Sweat poured off my head; I wasn't used to this kind of exertion.
"I'll go with you," said the sheriff to Wilma. "Just in case he wakes up." He turned around. "George, you're in charge of interviewing these people. With Sam's help of course."
Chip said, "What about me? You deputized me before her."
"You're still recovering from your head injury. Bob Bob, you and Chip get in the back seat of the truck. You're going back to Wilma's." He turned to George. "I'll interview these two, but they probably have an alibi, since they were with Wilma."
"They were," said Wilma. "Now I need to get Barclay medical attention. And, Sheriff, please call 911 for Hollister to send an ambulance. With that, she revved up her motor and left a cloud of dust in her wake, her last word echoing as they departed.
That left George and me with Jim Bob and Luigi.
"Should we go back to the hotel?" I asked George.
"Nope. Let's stay out here. It may help to be in the place it happened as we talk."
I excused myself for just a minute and ran to let Clancy out of the car.
This time George kept both guys together, and I didn't understand why. That is, until he started interrogating them.
"How long before Sam found Barclay had you been in the diner? You first, Jim Bob."
"I don't know. You now how bad I am with time. Maybe a half-hour. Maybe."
"What about you, Gorgonzola?"
I wanted to laugh. I'd forgotten Luigi's last name, and the use of it caught me off guard. Exercising restraint was difficult for me, but I was able to do it this time.
"Probably a half-hour," said Luigi, shrugging his shoulders.
"Was Jim Bob in there when you entered?"
"I didn't see him. But that doesn't mean he wasn't there."
"Jim Bob, was Luigi there when you entered?"
He said the same thing Luigi did. "I didn't see him. But that doesn't mean he wasn't there."
"Sam, please go inside and talk to the waitress and other patrons," George said. "See what you come up with."
I loved that he'd said "please" and thought he probably didn't say that to the other detectives he supervised.
"Stay here, girl," I said to Clancy, since she wasn't allowed in restaurants. As I put my foot on the first step leading to the diner, I heard an "Oof," a "Stop!" and two thuds.
I turned back immediately to find George and Luigi on the ground with Jim Bob running away from the diner.
I wanted to run after him, but first I looked over at George. He seemed to be dazed, but he was certainly conscious.
"Don't do anything, Sam. Just stay here," he said, fumbling for his cell phone. Luigi moaned and sat up, looking confused.
I loved George, but I couldn't do what he asked. "As long as I know you're okay, I'll stay on the case. I think we've found our murderer!"
I turned to chase the bad guy, knowing that as an official temporary deputy, it was up to me now. Just before I took off, I instructed my best companion to watch over George. "Clancy, stay with them." She didn't want to do it, but complied, after giving me a look.
I began running. Or what passed for running for me.
Luckily, Jim Bob wasn't a fast runner. He was probably so used to wearing a chicken suit that he waddled even without it. He darted into the front door of the motel, and I followed him. In the lobby, Jim Bob was nowhere in sight.
I ran into the meeting room where the chickens were still assembled. "Where's the Big Cluck?" I demanded.
There was a flutter of surprise at the use of real words, but then a host of wings pointed toward a back corner of the crowded room. I elbowed my way back, trying not to breathe in the plastic feathers and dank odor of sweaty costumes. A chicken in the corner lifted a wing and said, "Cluck?"
I took that to mean, "What do you want?"
So I answered, "You know damn well what I want, Jim Bob." I yanked off his scrawny little chicken head to reveal..."Mary Bob?"
All of a sudden I was surrounded by a horde of angry chickens. "Cluck!" "Clucky cluck!" "Cluckity, cluckity cluck." Chickens everywhere. Closer and closer. The noise was awful and the smell was choking me.
"Let me out!" My scream had no effect on the attacking flock. I was pelted with wing after wing, feather after feather. I could barely breathe. I dropped to the ground and managed to crawl between chicken legs, then took off running.
Once I was out of the convention room, I looked around the hallway and found a ponytail palm. I shoved the trunk between two door handles, trapping the chickens inside and breaking all kinds of fire codes. I spotted a second exit and did the same thing to that double door.
I knew it wouldn't hold them for long, but all I needed was enough time for George to get there. I felt in my jeans for my phone--of course I didn't have it. It was probably on the floor inside the room with the chickens. The noisy shouting and shoving against the doors made it clear they knew I'd escaped. And they were mad as hell to be stuck inside.
I couldn't imagine that all of them were villains but that's what they were acting like. We'd have to sort that out later. In the meantime I ran to the front desk, only to find another chicken standing behind it. Ack!
I made it out the front door of the motel just as I heard the doors give way. I started to run toward the diner, and was stunned to see that George and Luigi were nowhere in sight. Neither was Clancy. I didn't know which way to go, so I darted behind the motel as fast as my short little legs would carry me. Cursing myself for being so out of shape, and vowing to begin a fitness regimen as soon as possible, I kept running until I reached Marianne's house.
Luckily the door was unlocked. I shut the heavy front door and immediately shot the dead bolt. I ran to the back and did the same thing. I breathed a sigh, then turned around to find out where Marianne was.
Standing right in front of me was a chicken with his head off.
Jim Bob.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
He had another chicken suit scrunched up in his arms, and I could see that it was covered with dark spots. He shoved it behind his back. "What are you doing here?" Jim Bob growled, and he didn't look happy.
What are you doing here?" My vibes were in panic mode. I was sure I was talking to the murderer. But I tried to keep cool, like a deputy should. "Whose suit is that?"
"Mine."
"What's that all over it?"
"It's blood."
"Who--"
"You ask too many questions. I don't like a nosy chick." Jim Bob moved the chicken suit and revealed a knife. "The same thing is going to happen to you that happened to Missy Hen."
I gulped. How did I keep getting myself into these spots? I could feel sweat pooling on my neck.
"Jim Bob,you don't want to threaten me. George is on his way, and the Sheriff. And Clancy."
He laughed. "Your dog isn't going to save you any more than your boyfriend is."
Stalling for time, I started babbling, as usual. "But...but why did you do it?"
Jim Bob looked at me hard. "Missy Hen wanted to be a free range chick. Wanted to cluck anyone she wanted."
"Isn't that what these conventions are all about?"
"She was mine," he said, voice thickening. "She was my chick, and I couldn't have her sharing herself with other chickens. I wanted to be the only rooster in her life. When she didn't agree, I had to kill her."
"So...this is the suit she was wearing? That's why it's covered with blood?"
"You think you're really smart, do
n't you?"
I didn't know what to say to that. I was hoping that George would come looking for me before Jim Bob stopped talking. I wanted to turn around and look out the window, but I didn't dare take my eyes off the knife.
"Shut up," he said. "Enough questions."
I'd had bad vibes around Jim Bob all along, but discounted them. I'd had no other proof and chalked it up to his just being weird. That had fooled me before.
"So it was you all along. All those attacks--you knifed your own twin?" I knew he'd said enough questions, but questions were all I had.
"Just a nick. I didn't hurt him."
He was still answering, so that was good. I prayed that George--or anyone--would show up soon. I tried to keep my eyes off the old blood staining the chicken suit in Jim Bob's arm.
"And Chip--you stabbed him too."
"Who do you think was clucking Missy Hen?" His voice turned to a snarl. "No more questions, I said!" He dropped the bloody chicken suit and lifted the knife.
My eyes looked up. Behind his head I saw a frying pan coming out of nowhere, followed immediately by the sound of a loud "clunk." And down he went.
Standing over the now crumpled headless chicken was Marianne, who had a triumphant look on her face.
"Got him," she said with satisfaction.
"Marianne! Incredible. Where did you come from?"
"I was in the kitchen fixing up some of my prize-winning chicken fricassee. My cast iron skillet was right nearby. Lucky thing, right?"
At that point I heard two wonderful sounds--George shouting my name and Clancy barking her head off outside the door.
"Sam! Let me in!"
Will You Marry Me? (Sam Darling Mystery Book 4) Page 12