Cluff looked up from a ledger he was making entries in. He recognized me at once and spent a moment looking me over before speaking in a voice that was almost a challenge.
"What y’ lookin’ for this time?"
So much for my disguise. Maybe I should have tried the Charlie Chan, I thought, but I was too nervous to think it was funny. I quickly described the radiator of Mrs. Constantine's car.
"Fourth row down, go left, and then about halfway to the fence. I remember the radiator on that one looked pretty clean inside."
He quoted a price and pointed to the lot with his thumb. “If you think it'll do y', go ahead and take it off,” he said.
As I walked out into the lot, I held my breath and glanced back toward the office. Through the window I could see him staring at me. I smiled and pointed in the direction he had indicated. He nodded his head and I turned and hurried on. The car with the radiator was on the opposite side of the lot from the car I had really come to see, but I thought it wise to at least check out the radiator first. It was indeed in good shape. The inside passages appeared to be clean, the outside had no solder repairs I could see, and the fins were not damaged. I thought it would appear strange if I didn't take it, so I went to work. A half hour later the radiator was in one hand and my bag of tools in the other as I set about, well, getting lost. At least that's what I'd say if anyone ran across me wandering around.
There was no trouble finding the wreck that had been moved, and it was exactly as I remembered. The dirt exposed by moving had indeed been disturbed, footprints, dead weeds, and all.
I glanced around to see if anyone would be able to see what I was about to do. The customers whose cars I had seen were nowhere to be seen, and the manager was hopefully still in his office. I took another deep breath and quickly opened the driver's door and ducked inside the car. I was familiar with this model, and I knew the floorboards were easily removed for access to the battery and the brake and clutch mechanisms. Pulling it up took only a moment.
The soil underneath was loose from having been disturbed, even showing the marks of a shovel used to smooth it. I looked around again to see if I was alone. No matter who might come along, I knew I'd have trouble explaining what I was doing. Using the end of a large wrench, I began to paw at the soft earth. Time immediately seemed to slow down, and the heat inside the old car quickly became oppressive. A sense of urgency began to work its way up my spine and forced me to stop every few moments to check the area to see if I was still alone. Eventually, my wrench struck something immovable that could have been a rock or maybe an old root.
I gingerly used my hand to pull the soil away from it. It wasn't either one, and somehow I had known it wouldn't be. After a little more digging and a little struggle to free it, I dropped it and the wrench in my tool bag. In the end, I wasn't as surprised at what I'd found as I was by how shallow it had been buried.
* * * *
The aisles were still empty as I hurried along what I hoped was the most direct route to the office. Actually, I was beginning to think of it as my escape route. My stomach was starting to feel a bit queasy by then, and the hairs on my neck felt as stiff as porcupine quills. That, along with dragging the radiator and my heavy tool bag, made me feel like I was trying to ford a river of thick mud that was growing wider with each step.
I must have been putting too much attention on what I was carrying in my tool bag because I discovered I had taken a wrong turn and was halfway down an aisle that was blocked toward the far end. I had begun to retrace my steps when I glimpsed, through the layers of cars between me and the office, the mechanic I had hoped to avoid seeing. He was walking purposefully along in the next aisle, swinging a large monkey wrench in one hand. He was either planning to remove a very large nut from some bolt or he was looking for me. It took only a few seconds to decide which it most likely was. When he reached the next corner—sometime in the next half minute—he would certainly spot me. Whatever his purpose, I didn't want to enter into any kind of conversation with him. Especially if he thought to check the old junker. In that moment, I remembered I hadn't replaced the floorboard and it would be easy to see that the soil under it had been freshly stirred up.
I began to quickly search for a way over, around, or through the stack of cars that stood in the way of the right path to the front of the yard.
My eye was caught by one of the vehicles in the stack blocking the aisle. It was the remains of a panel truck, and I moved to it. Surprisingly, the rear door opened with little resistance and noise. I could see that if I went through it and out one of the missing side doors there might be space enough to slip between a couple of cars on the other side. It was a tight squeeze, but a moment later, breathing heavily and nursing a few scratches, I was into the next aisle. I knew those scratches and a couple of tears in my shirt were going to make it difficult to convince Lillie that I had spent an uneventful morning.
Looking back, I had a glimpse of the mechanic. He had turned the corner and was searching around the area I had just left. If I could see him through the spaces between cars, it was possible he could see me, and it would take him only a few seconds to turn back. There wasn't time to get to the end of the aisle and around the corner.
I scanned the next row of cars for a way through. Still clutching my bag of tools and with the radiator under my arm, I ducked between a couple of cars. There wasn't enough room to get through, and I came back out and tried the next space. Another scratch and another tear later, I was through, breathing heavily and still hanging awkwardly onto my bag and the radiator. Why I hadn't abandoned the radiator, I have no idea. Probably too frightened to engage the brain.
A couple of shortcuts and turns and twists later, I was nearing the office. Another customer was headed in the same direction with a steering wheel and column over his shoulder. I hurried along so I could get there first and conclude my business while he was still around. Trying to get my breathing under control, I approached the office.
"Find what y’ were looking for?” Cluff said with a scowl as I walked in.
My stomach did a flop, and for a second I thought perhaps he knew what I had really been up to out there. I tried to believe it was simply what he said to everybody as I held up the radiator where he could see it and quickly dropped several coins on the counter.
"This was the price, right?” I asked.
I thought he wanted to say more but stopped when the other customer walked in behind me. He nodded and slid the coins into a drawer. Maybe it was only the anxiety I was feeling, but it seemed the air between us was charged with a few unsaid words as he glanced from me to the customer with the steering wheel.
I felt his eyes on me all the way out the door.
* * * *
Dave was in his kitchen having lunch when I called on him. I declined his wife's offer to join them and motioned for him to follow me out onto the porch where I had left my bag of tools.
"There's a body buried under a car over at Cluff's,” I said.
The hair on my neck was still dancing and my stomach was still afflicted with unusual sensations.
"Whose body?"
"The missing banker's, I'd bet."
"You're sure?"
"If it's not him, it's somebody."
I unstrapped my tool bag, reached inside, and handed him the shoe I had pried off the foot.
Dave turned it over in his hands and flicked a fingernail at the dirt still clinging to the crevices around the sole. I quickly explained how I had come to discover it and how I had avoided what might have been, well, an ugly confrontation. He paused to look me square in the eye before he spoke.
"Now, Cliff ... knowin’ you might not be welcome, you went over there by your lonesome?"
"After the Packard thing..."
He paused for a moment. Looking me in the eye, he said, “You'll recall it was only the sheriff who had a problem with that."
I thought I could sense his disappointment that I might have doubted his friendship. T
he expression on my face must have shown my embarrassment because he placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder.
"Now, how do you suppose this came to end up over there?” he said as he stared at the shoe he was holding in his other hand.
The advice of the old body man came to mind. About the point of first impact. “It may not mean anything, but from time to time I used to see a newer tow truck with their name on it. But I haven't seen it lately, and it wasn't there either time I was over there. What they seem to be using is an old one that looks pretty beat up. Maybe the sheriff ought to be looking at why they're still usin’ it ... maybe see if there was some kind of business connection with the bank or the banker."
I also told him what Frank at the filling station had observed and added, “I saw the old Cluff tow truck passing through town about that same time. And it would have been about the same time as Mrs. Constantine and Mrs. Samuelson saw the Packard with two people in it."
Dave listened carefully as I went on. “There were two people in the tow truck when I saw it. I think one of them could have been the fellow Frank saw getting into the banker's car while it stopped by the highway. I also think it could have been Cluff."
Dave thought that over for a beat.
"Makes sense,” he said, his face moving toward a smile. “If we don't lose any time, maybe that body'll still be there. I'll be right back.” He handed me the shoe and walked into the house. A few moments later he came back, followed by his wife.
"The sheriff said he and a few deputies will be over right away. He thinks both of us ought to go along. I guess you'll have to show ‘em where to dig.” He turned to his wife. “Help me look for that badge they gave me, will you, Sally? I think I put it somewhere a while back."
* * * *
"So that's where you were all morning,” Lillie said when I finished giving her a slightly varnished account of my day. Well, maybe highly varnished. I had left out a few details.
Based on the reaction of the manager and his mechanic when the sheriff arrived, prepared to do some digging, Dave's opinion was that I had indeed been plain lucky. By then I had managed to convince myself that I had also been plain foolish.
The sheriff's men commandeered the truck with the funny looking derrick on the back, and the old wreck was lifted off and put aside. After only a little digging, the body was found where I said it was. And it was who I thought it was, homburg and all.
"You went to the shop this morning?” I asked.
"No, but Mrs. Constantine did. She brought over a peach pie and said your shop was closed both times she went by."
"She has a problem with her radiator."
"You know about it?"
"I knew it was going to be a problem soon."
"She's planning to visit her daughter and her family. She doesn't want to be filling her radiator every few miles and she wants you to fix it."
"I think I can help her with that.” I shuddered, picturing myself frantically clutching the radiator and trying not to ding the fins as I stumbled around between the wrecks. Given a little time, perhaps the picture would even seem funny.
We were sitting on the front porch. Billy was in bed and we were watching afternoon shadows turn into night. A few rays of the sun were still clinging to the hills in the distance. I was content to just sit there next to Lillie and watch it happen.
Dave stopped by just as darkness was closing in. “There was a connection,” he said as he sank into a chair.
"There was real bad blood between Cluff and the banker and it was over a loan Cluff used to buy his new truck last year. He had trouble makin’ payments on the truck, and Murdock repossessed it a few weeks ago and sold it right away for what the outstanding loan balance was. Cluff thought the banker had been hasty and figured the truck was worth a lot more and he should have at least gotten some of his equity out of it."
"Doesn't seem like enough to do murder,” Lillie said.
"You wouldn't think so. But the head teller over at the bank said Murdock refused to talk to Cluff, and Cluff was really put out about it. Cluff may have seen Murdock as he was passin’ by the gas station and decided it was a good time to have a talk. It all might have started with a little confrontation."
"When Mrs. Samuelson saw the Packard out on the highway, she thought they were having a big argument,” I said.
"What killed Murdock was a bullet in the heart. What she saw might have been leadin’ up to that."
"And Cluff saw how the Packard might make up for what he thought he'd lost on his tow truck equity."
"Prob'ly, but so far he's not talking about that or anythin’ else. That mechanic he has over there, that's a different story. Turns out he's no stranger up at the state prison. Claims when he came back from dropping off a car they'd been towing, the Packard was in their shop and Murdock was dead. All he admits to is helping put the body under that junked car you found."
"I hope that was enough for the sheriff to keep him."
Dave nodded. “They've already traced the Packard to one of Cluff's friends who was about to take it to another state to sell it for him. The sheriff is keeping the friend too."
"What's going to happen to the bank?” Lillie asked.
"It'll probably close. The examiners found Murdock was in a precarious position, overextended with loans, and before the crash he'd been into stocks more than he should have been. It's possible he could have pulled out of it by being as cutthroat as he seems to have been lately, but with the way things turned out, I guess it won't happen. They'll close it up and liquidate. Turns out the Packard was in the bank's name, so they'll be liquidatin’ that too. I told the sheriff if they send anyone over to pick up that tire for it, to have them bring your fee for fixin’ it."
"It's not important,” I said. “They can have the tire. They ought to try to save the bank."
"They say people would have no confidence even if they tried to keep it open."
"People are going to be hurt,” I said.
"Including Willy Barnes. He's back in town. No longer under any suspicion, but he's not going to get that job he was trying to get. And the examiners will probably go ahead with foreclosure on his house. A lot of others, too, I guess."
"I suppose there's nothing can be done."
"Prob'ly not. But my wife tells me things have been showing up on the Barnes doorstep the last few days."
"Things?"
"Bag of flour. Bag of potatoes. Eggs. A few other things."
"All anonymous I suppose?"
"Didn't hear of any notes being left.” He rose to leave. “By the way, the sheriff said next time you start feelin’ restless ‘bout anything, he'd be glad to arrange some company for you.” He winked and waved a good night.
"Dave can sure change the subject fast, can't he?” I said as the sound of his truck faded away down the street.
"Anonymous ... as in Dave?"
"Or his wife. Sure as the sun rises in the east."
Lillie smiled and sat quietly for a time. Finally she broke the silence, “I suppose it just slipped your mind to tell me you were going to go over to that junkyard."
Her words were mild, but they were strong enough to suggest she thought I might have done smarter things in my life.
"I thought Dave might have been a little disappointed too,” I said.
She put a finger in a small tear in my sleeve and moved it around the edges.
"Now tell me the things you left out."
See, Lillie always knows when I leave things out. Even without the evidence of the tear, she would have known. I don't know how she knows, but she does. What could I do? I told her.
"So why did you think you had to do the looking?"
"Because after the debacle with the Packard, what would they think if I told them I thought or maybe there might be a body under an old car over there?"
"I think you know where Dave stands. And he just delivered the sheriff's apology about that.” Her lips turned up in a rueful smile and she shook her hea
d.
"I started this thing when I saw the Packard. Someone told me once, if you start something, you should always try to finish it."
I thought it was a good try, but the only thing I got out of that comment was a good poke in the ribs. A really good poke in the ribs.
* * * *
When Mr. Samuelson came to pick up his car a couple of days later, he spent a long moment looking at my shiny new paint job on his fender and running board. Then another moment glancing over the rest of the car where the original paint was beginning to fade.
"Cliff, how would you like to repaint the whole thing?"
"Sure, I can handle that,” I said quickly ... and without, um, thinking. When I came to my senses, I realized what I had done. Again. But then, I knew what Lillie would say when I told her about it.
Copyright (c) 2007 Douglas Grant Johnson
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UNSOLVED: LOGIC PUZZLE by Robert V. Kesling
Quality Plus Corporation sells bulk auto parts through outlets in four cities, each managed by an agent. Recently, a problem arose: Somebody is cheating.
President Armstrong called in Bea Sharpe, private investigator. “It's driving me mad,” he declared. “The total money turned in by our four agents in Frankfurt, Georgetown, Huntington, and Jackson is substantially less than the value of items sold."
"Just what is involved?” asked Ms. Sharpe.
Armstrong answered, “We handle bulk lots of four items: carburetors valued at $1,000 a case lot, timers valued at $1,500 a case, spark plugs valued at $4,000 a case, and crankshafts worth $2,500 a case."
"Any possibility, sir, that some crates are stolen?"
"None whatever! There have been no break-ins at any of those four outlets. It has to be an inside job. One of my agents is pocketing corporation funds."
Bea Sharpe inquired, “Sir, may I see the paperwork on these suspect sales and returns?"
"Gladly,” replied Armstrong. “Here are the figures for last week. As you can see, they do not balance. I need to have this cleared up before my corporation is bankrupt."
AHMM, November 2007 Page 13