“Sometimes people carry hatred a long time, Colonel.”
Chapter Four
In my years on the police force I’ve never been very good at preventing murder. Solving, yes. Preventing, no. Never did I want to prevent a murder as much as I did that day. My good friend, my mentor, had been threatened. Lou and I had to think quickly. What could we do to help the Colonel?
We sat, talked, wondered. It seemed like we’d toured the whole house, except for the room where we spent the most time. The Colonel rose to give us a tour of his sanctuary. He lifted the oriental rug and unlocked the trapdoor. The Colonel descended, followed by his lemmings. The room below resembled a small trailer. There we found a couch, a chair, a double bed, a refrigerator, a sink and commode, and some canned goods. Not much else. But a little more than most people take on a camping trip. At least, I guess it was. The closest I’ve ever come to a camping trip was overnight surveillance with Lou. It wasn’t the worst of times, but surely it wasn’t the best of times. The Colonel pointed out that there was no way in or out, except the stairs we walked down.
Satisfied, we climbed back up, a wheeze at a time. Well, one of us wheezed. Lou seemed to have gotten over his wheezing. The Colonel didn’t seem to have any problem, even though he was a quarter of a century older than we were. The Colonel marched us to his secret entrance and exit. He pointed to his Hardy Boy collection, kept from his childhood. He reached behind of a couple of books, The House on the Cliff, and The Secret of the Old Mill, and pulled forward, pulling both spines down to the shelf. When he did, the last bookcase slid aside. The Colonel motioned for us to take a step out into the corridor. He flipped a switch, and all we saw was a corridor twenty feet long and four feet wide, and a concrete floor. The Colonel hit another switch and the wall slid back into place, only we were still in the corridor. Our mentor took a remote from his pocket, hit a button, and a panel slid away, leaving some numbers and a place to put your fingertips.
“Hit, numbers two, four, six, and eight, and rest your fingers in the grooves.”
I did. Nothing happened. Then, Lou tried. Still, nothing.
“Now, I will do it.”
The Colonel hit the numbers in the same sequence Lou and I had done, rested his fingers where we’d placed ours. The wall slid back, allowing us reentry to the library.
“See, boys. The place is a fortress, and yet it isn’t. Any ideas?”
I looked at Lou. He looked at me. It reminded me of high school. The test looked vaguely familiar, yet it didn’t.
I had no ideas, but a couple of questions.
“So, Colonel, I assume the maid knows of the passageway.”
“No. No one else knows about it. Not even Martha.”
“So, does it lead anywhere? Can you get out that way?”
“In and out. At the back of the living room closet is a hook, like you hang your coat on. If you turn the hook clockwise, then pull it down, the wall slides away, and I can enter the passageway. From this side it’s very easy. There’s just a button you push to exit, but there’s also a mirror that lets me know if anyone is in the living room. You cannot see the mirror from the other side.”
“Are you certain that no one has seen you use the passageway?”
“No, but I’m certain no one else can gain entrance to the library from there, and I’ve never seen any footprints when I’ve run the vacuum out there, which I did yesterday. Oh, and by the way, both the passageway and the library are soundproof, for whatever that’s worth.”
“Colonel, would you like for me to get an expert from the department to come out to see if he can come up with anything?”
“For the time being, boys, I’d like for it to be just us. Besides, I doubt if anyone else can help. I designed this room. Still, I’m flabbergasted. Here’s what I want to do. Tomorrow night, I’d like for you boys to come to dinner, meet the family, see what kind of reaction you have. Tomorrow, during the day, if you have time, talk to some of the neighbors, but don’t mention me or my house. Say you’ve gotten a report of suspicious activity somewhere in this area. Tell them you’re checking out an area of a few blocks. Ask them if they’ve seen any strangers on the street, cutting through to the next street. Let’s see where this goes. Then, decide if we have to go further. I mean, it could be a prank, but whether it is or not, I’m still dumbfounded as to how someone could’ve put a note in this room.”
“Would you like for us to stay here for a while? You still have that room above the garage, don’t you?”
“We do, but I don’t want to alarm anyone unnecessarily. Later, I’ll tell Martha that the reason you boys stopped by was to let us know that someone has been breaking into homes in this area, in the daytime, but houses where no one was home. I want to ask her to stay home tomorrow, since I will spend a lot of my time in the library and won’t be able to hear an intruder. Thursday the Hoskinses will be here, so they’ll be a deterrent.”
“Unless they’re the ones we’re looking for.”
“I’ll watch my back. Oh, I’ve two keys to the library, both on my person. I want to give you one, in case something does happen to me and you need to get into the library. And if I do figure out anything, but don’t live to tell about it, I’ll do my best to leave you a clue. I want you boys to promise me a couple of things. One, if something happens to me, I want to you find out who did it and protect my family from violence. And two, whatever happens to me, don’t let it change you. I’d be awfully disappointed if I knew that the two of you were moping around because of me. I know how much the two of you like having fun. Don’t stop. You’ll catch up with me some day.”
The Colonel paused to look at his watch.
“Look at the time. Everyone’s probably home by now, and I’m sure Martha is wondering when we’re going to come out. Let’s call it a day.”
The Colonel opened the door, and the two of us stepped out into the hall, near the kitchen. Martha looked up as we did.
“Well, it’s about time. Did you talk them to death, Buck? Dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes. Why don’t you boys stay and eat with us?”
“I’ve already invited them for tomorrow night, dear.”
“Well, good. Then, they can eat with us two nights in a row. I planned to have them stay as soon as they walked in the door. I know how the three of you can talk.”
“Well, boys, what do you say? Can you stand us two nights in a row? Or do you have plans for the evening?”
“I don’t have. You, Lou?”
“Just to eat.”
“Then, it’s settled. Since no one else is else down yet, while the missus is getting things ready, why don’t the three of us check out your tree house. It’s been a while since you’ve used it. We’ll even let you camp out there tonight, won’t we dear?” the Colonel said, as he smiled at us and gave his wife a wink.
+++
No matter how hard the Colonel tried, neither Lou nor I were willing to take the express to the tree house. The express was another of the Colonel’s inventions. The Colonel keyed in the body weight of whoever was ascending to the tree house, and an equal amount of weight would descend, getting the party there in record time. Lou said he would do it, as long as I went first. I’m not sure if he wondered if I would shoot off into space and he’d get an opportunity to break in a new partner, or if he’d smirk when the Colonel removed twenty pounds or so before it was Lou’s turn. Either way, I wasn’t game.
Until Martha called us to dinner, the three of us stood and talked over the good times Lou and I spent in the tree house.
Lou and I had a couple of moments alone while we washed for dinner. If dinner wasn’t up to our expectations, we’d make up some excuse not to return the next night. We’d eaten at the Hardesty home before, but that was long ago, before our taste buds had matured.
It didn’t take us long before we knew we planned a return trip. The Swiss steak was plentiful, and there were enough mashed potatoes, gravy, corn on the cob, green beans, and rolls with butter to ge
t us through. My only disappointment was the lemon meringue pie. I got only one piece. It had been a while since I quit after one piece. Anyway, I had a solution. Lou and I would stop at Every Loving Spoonful and order a banana split before we went home.
+++
The next day was uneventful. We sandwiched meeting the Colonel’s neighbors in between lunch at the Blue Moon and dinner at the Colonel’s house. We found a few of the neighbors at home, but none of them had seen a stranger in the neighborhood. No one answered the door at the newest neighbor’s house. Either Bob Downey wasn’t at home, or wasn’t receiving guests. We’d round him up later, if needed.
+++
I called the Colonel on Friday to make sure that the maid and handyman didn’t do away with him on Thursday. He had received no new notes or unexpected visitors with a key to the library. Satisfied, I spent a lot of my weekend reclining with a good book. I was beginning to read enough to note that, if I was undisturbed, I could finish a good book in two Hershey Almond bars. Although when I came to the end of the book and had to divulge the name of the murderer before the author did, I ate more candy to help my thought process.
+++
Since nothing had happened, Lou and I made plans for Saturday night with Betty McElroy and Thelma Lou Spencer. Betty was merely a friend, a companion for our double-dates. Betty was still in love with her deceased husband Hugh, and I still loved my Eunice. We were friends that expected nothing but companionship from our dinners out with Lou and Thelma Lou. Those two, on the other hand, were smitten with one another. Not quite smitten enough to get married, but smitten enough that neither dated anyone else. Saturday night, we enjoyed a good meal together while we sat and conversed with each other. Lou and I tried to listen when we were around the girls and tried to learn as much etiquette and manners as was possible for two old dogs. The four of us were very comfortable together. We always referred to them as the girls, and they referred to the Colonel always had, as the boys. The four of us enjoyed our evening immensely, and Lou and I took the girls home at a reasonable hour, because all of us had church to attend the next morning. While I always drive when it is just Lou and me, he drives when we take the girls out. While Lou doesn’t like to drive, everyone likes to ride in his red ’57 Chevy.
Chapter Five
Hilldale is a quaint little town, a good place to raise two-and-one-half children. Such might be the comment of someone who dissects our little community on the way to somewhere else. It might even be said by most people who grow up in our hamlet, at least those who don’t live next door to the most recent murder victim or are called out of bed to track down each murderer. If I had chosen to work at the corner grocery with hopes of some day buying the place, I might have said it myself. But when I graduated from high school and looked at my limited possibilities, I chose to do my best to help our little corner of the world. Thirty years later, I’ve no regrets.
Lou and I had wrapped up our latest murder investigation in late January, and while neither of us puts a notch on his belt each time we bring another criminal to justice, I’d say that we are closing in on solving one hundred murders since we offered to take over the homicide department of the Hilldale Police Department twenty-two years ago when Lt. Dolan and Sgt. Eversole retired. Retirement. Lou and I made that same decision just a few months ago. Sort of. Both of us had long since grown tired of all police work except murder investigations. We also knew that no one was knocking on the door to take our jobs. So, we sat down with the Chief one day and formed an agreement. Technically, Lou and I retired, but we agreed to come out of retirement each time another murder was committed within our jurisdiction, until the department found someone to replace us. We knew the chief wasn’t in any hurry to send us on our way. Both of us recently celebrated our fiftieth birthday, so we’re not over the hill yet, merely striding it, and we’ve solved every murder we’ve investigated. And not too many people migrate to Hilldale, police officer or not, so it wasn’t like the line forming to snatch our jobs resembled that of the masses that descend upon those well-known stores during the pre-dawn hours on the day after Thanksgiving. Lou and I knew we could stay as long as we were an asset.
I can still remember that day, when Chief Collins, now retired, called Tom Morgan, George Michaelson, Lou, and me into his office to let us know that Dolan and Eversole would soon be retiring. He told us they would need two men to replace them, and he felt the four of us were the most qualified to handle the job. Tom Morgan had talked for some time of moving on, which he did less than a year later, to a larger city, and a bigger department. Two years later, he came back to tell us he regretted the move, but planned to stick it out a while longer. When Tom passed on the promotion, that left George, Lou, and me, and all three of us are still with the department over two decades later. Lou and I’ve been buddies since before we started elementary school, and George wasn’t about to break us up. Besides, George told me then, and many times since, that Lou and I were more suited to homicide than he was. Lou has always liked solving things, and while small town murders are a lot different than figuring out the latest crossword puzzle, or even identifying the murderer before Perry Mason catches him or her, by the grace of God, and the six months training we received from Dolan and Eversole, we were able to step in without missing a beat. Oh, we’ve stumbled around a few times, but we’ve learned a lot in our stumbling, and always managed to arrive at the right conclusion.
When we solved our latest murder at the end of January, we had no inkling of what was to come in April, but other than hoping for warmer weather, we never thought of April at the end of January. April was over two months away. We still had the slushy snows of February, the howling winds of March, and the spring rains of early April to deal with first.
Snow. Hilldale is far north of sunny Florida, so each year we know there is a good possibility of snow through February, and into March. Still, retired or not, we have refrained from taking up any new hobbies, such as ice fishing or snowmobiling. We don’t get enough snow in Hilldale, Kentucky to do either of them. Besides, both activities require more exertion than Lou and I’ve been used to, and there is an element of danger in each, and neither provides enough warmth to heat our bodies to the temperature we prefer. We toyed with the idea of going shopping for snowshoes, if we lost our senses, but decided to strap tennis rackets to our shoes if the silly notion became more than a notion. Besides, snowshoes means walking. Walking means exercise. And exercise is something I don’t plan to do unless it involves catching a murderer, or a good meal. The only way I will take up any winter sport would be if my next-door neighbor promises to try out for hockey goalie without any protective equipment, and plans to use her mutt to catch the puck. Lou and I adhere to the same exercise program; recliner to bathroom, bathroom to recliner, recliner to Lightning, Lightning to Blue Moon Diner, Blue Moon Diner to Lightning, Lightning to recliner.
Neither of us had a reason to retire. Lou is a bachelor, and I’ve been a widower longer than I’ve been anything else. My wife Eunice succumbed to cancer just a few years after we married. Both Lou and I felt we needed some kind of hobby if we retired, because no one can eat twenty-four hours a day, although the idea seems mighty tempting. Both of us were adamant that we didn’t need any hobby that caused our weight to yo-yo, because we knew that was unhealthy. So, we decided to read about the literary world’s version of people gifted in the same way Lou and I are. Nero Wolfe became my hero. Anyone who loves food and staying at home as much as he does is all right in my book. True, the man has issues. No man should fool around with orchids. And I never developed the love of beer that he has. It is probably his twice-a-day trip up the elevator to see those blasted orchids that keeps his weight from ballooning above three hundred pounds.
If I hadn’t chosen to take semi-retirement, I might never have learned about Wolfe, Sam Spade, Hercule Poirot, Charlie Chan, Sherlock Holmes, and some of the other sleuths of days gone by. Even though I was gifted, I wasn’t so much so that I couldn’t lea
rn something from the literary giants of sleuthdom. Maybe some day what I learn in those books might help me solve a case one day sooner. While these mysteries help enlighten people as to the mighty acumen of the police force, I must say that even though these men I mentioned measure up to my accomplishments, I cannot say the same about those who have sidekicks. Sgt. Murdock is much more helpful to me than Dr. Watson ever was to Holmes.
If you read rather than skimmed an earlier paragraph, you might have noticed references to Lightning and the Blue Moon Diner. Lightning is my mode of transportation. No gas-guzzling black tank for me. Lightning is a canary yellow VW beetle. The Blue Moon is the diner responsible for making us into the men we have become. No place serves stick-to-your-ribs food like the Blue Moon and has two better women to serve it to us than Rosie and Thelma. Both treat us better than any wife or mother ever could.
I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about Lou and me. True, we are retired, in a way, and neither of us cooks his own meals, or mows his own lawn. Lou lives in an apartment building, and I hire someone to do mine. It might sound like all we do is sleep. In truth, Lou and I lead active lives. Even though we seldom cook, we make frequent trips to the grocery. I’ve to stock up on Hershey Almond candy bars, and Lou loads up on M&Ms. Plus, both of us has to have enough easy-to-fix food on hand to satisfy an unexpected, late-night craving. The Blue Moon isn’t an all-night establishment, and there are times when the severity of the weather wins out over eating the food God meant for us to eat. Sometimes we have to eat junk. Well, junk and candy. While I do plow into the latest plate of food at the Blue Moon, I take my time when eating my candy. I meticulously extricate one almond at a time from my candy bar. I savor each morsel of chocolate as it melts in my mouth. The feeling is so heaven-like that if I ever decide to take a vacation, or to relocate, Hershey, Pennsylvania is the only place I would consider. I wonder if every store in that town sells Hershey bars. And are the streetlights shaped like Hershey Kisses? Don’t they have some kind of festival up there? I must check with one of my friends who has a computer. Hershey might be worth a visit.
3 Murder In The Library Page 3