“I wish I didn’t know about you, yet. Maybe I can get amnesia. Or better yet, maybe you can get amnesia and forget where you live.”
“Oh, Cyrus, you sly devil. You want me to move in with you. We can turn your home into a love nest.”
“Miss Humphert, I might have neglected to tell you about a bad habit of mine. I wake up in the middle of the night, ready to shoot my gun. As a matter of fact, I’ve been known to shoot at the first moving thing I see after I leave my house each morning. You might have heard the noise and thought it was a car backfiring. My latest victim was a rat, one that looks much like yours. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got work to do, and I hate having nightmares on an empty stomach.”
“Oh, Cyrus, are you inviting Twinkle Toes and me out to eat?”
“I sure am. It’s a little place in Mexico. I’ll draw you a map. Be sure and wait if you get there first, and don’t forget to drink plenty of water when you get there.”
With that, I used the umbrella to keep her from touching me and whipped by her. Okay, maybe it was more of a stumble than a whip. Still, I managed to distance myself from my neighbor and her rat, if only for a little while. I hoped to recover my appetite before Lou and I arrived at the Blue Moon.
+++
Lou and I sauntered into the Blue Moon, hoisted ourselves up onto our stools, and perused the menu. Rosie walked over.
“Well, hello Lieutenant, Sergeant. I didn’t realize that you’d learned how to read.”
“We sure have,” I replied. “This ‘all of the above’ sounds good. Why don’t you bring me one of those?”
“You know that includes the Fruit Loops with chocolate milk?”
“I understand fruit’s good for you, but I’ll pass this time. I might reconsider at lunch. Just bring me the Bonanza Extravaganza.”
“And you, Sergeant?”
“I’ll have what he’s having, only bring me waffles with strawberries and whipped cream instead of the pecan pancakes, and a half order of link sausage instead of bacon, and make it two eggs instead of three, and bring them over easy, instead of scrambled with cheese. Oh, just bring the bacon, too. Have I forgotten anything?”
“So, you’ve gone cold turkey on the Wii?”
“No, I’ll just work out a little longer when I get home. So, like I said, have I forgotten anything?”
“Just the pie, but you never order that until you’re through with everything else.”
“Just make sure you have enough pie for him,” Lou said as he pointed at me.
“We had two shifts work overtime, just so he’d have enough.”
“Are you two lovebirds through jabbering? I’m getting hungry.”
“Cy, I was just working up to proposing to Rosie. I would too, if I didn’t think it would ruin a beautiful relationship.”
Rosie smiled, shook her head, then turned, put our order on the spindle, and spun it around to the cook.
By the way Lou looked at me I could tell that he knew something was bothering me. I’m sure he thought it was just the Colonel. He didn’t know that I’d encountered the plague from next door on my way out of the house. That reminded me. I would need to pray again, and ask God’s forgiveness.
Our food came and I looked down, dug in. Sparks flashed as knife met fork. I didn’t look up until I heard Rosie laugh. I looked at her, then at Lou. Lou turned to me and smiled. He had a dollop of whipped cream on his nose, and a link of sausage dangled from the side of his mouth.
He opened his mouth slightly, to talk. As he did, the sausage fell out, but Quick Hands Lou tackled it before it hit the floor. Undaunted, he replaced the sausage, but held on to it.
“Say the secret word, Cy, and you win fifty dollars.”
I must say that Groucho Marx never looked so bad, but I admit Lou’s shenanigans made me laugh. Well, the Colonel did tell us to have fun. I was thankful that we arrived late enough that we had the place to ourselves.
I reached over and ran a finger through his whipped cream. He poked his finger into the top pancake on my plate, then put his finger in his mouth and licked it.
Rosie stood shaking her head. She saw nothing she hadn’t seen before. As we continued, she spoke.
“Tell me again about how you two were the only ones to apply for a job with the police department all those many years ago.”
“I beg your pardon. We were the top of our class.”
“Is that another way of saying what I said?”
My stomach growled, so I ignored Rosie and returned to my food. I savored each morsel, and then looked at my watch to see how long we had to wait until lunch. But enough about lunch. We hadn’t finished breakfast. Not all of it.
“Say Rosie, what kind of pie do you have this morning?”
“So far, you can either have peanut butter or chocolate cream.”
“That will be fine.”
She looked at Lou and he concurred. A few seconds later she returned with a piece of peanut butter pie and a piece of chocolate cream pie for me, and a sliver of each for Lou. Poor Lou, he seemed to lose weight as I ate. I hoped his Wii broke before he wasted away to nothing. If he kept it up, some day he would turn into a one hundred and ninety-eight pound weakling.
+++
Once more ensconced in Lightning where Lou’s seatbelt seemed to wrap around him twice, Lou and I decided to leave our door-to-door canvassing until after lunch. Experience proved that both Lou and I walked better if we had eaten two meals beforehand. Instead, we stopped by the Scene of the Crime and reloaded. I wanted to see what the top sleuths of today’s literature had to say. Able to walk better because our billfolds were a little lighter, Lou sauntered and I stumbled from the bookstore, and I drove him back to his apartment.
“See you at the first growl of the stomach,” I said, as I delivered my parting words.
I walked into the house, dumped my stash on the table next to the recliner, kicked my shoes off, slid my slippers on, and plopped down. I looked over my selections; Death On Demand by Carolyn Hart, The Alpine Advocate by Mary Daheim, Innkeeping With Murder by Tim Myers, A Clue For The Puzzle Lady by Parnell Hall, Wish You Were Here by Rita Mae Brown, and The Cat Who Could Read Backwards by Lillian Jackson Braun. Each was the first book in a mystery series. I picked up Carolyn Hart’s book. Her Lt. Dekker was a woman who owned a mystery bookstore and lived on an island off the South Carolina coast. That caused me to think. What fictional detective would I really like to be? I had heard of many of them since Lou and I started hanging out at the Scene of the Crime. Owning a bookstore that sells nothing but mysteries seemed cool. But then there is something to be said about Nero Wolfe’s seldom leaving home. He even has a cook, and a man to run his errands. Still, I’m not sure I want anyone else living with me. And there’s that Qwill guy in The Cat Who series. Imagine not knowing if you’re a millionaire or a billionaire. I think I’d like that. And everyone would have to be nice to me, just in case I might give them some money. Yes, rank has its privileges.
I lay back and mulled over my possibilities. I mulled too long. My snoring didn’t awaken me. I had grown used to it over the years. Some time later, the growl in my stomach woke me. My new fictional friends would have to wait. It was once again time for my favorite exercise. I called Lou to let him know.
Chapter Eight
Our Sunday routine differs from any other day. The Blue Moon is closed on Sunday, so we begin our Sundays like any other cop begins a normal day. We feast on donuts. Our church offers the cream of the donut crop, so Lou and I voice our approval by slipping a total of one hundred dollars into the donut fund each week. Donuts filled with custard and covered with chocolate or smothered with caramel and pecans are a fine way to get everyone in the right frame of mind to receive the pastor’s message. Lou and I arrive early each week in order to feed the kitty without being noticed, pluck the first of those tasty morsels, and still get our back row aisle seats before someone else plops down in them. The only difference is that lately Lou has cut his donut intake i
n half. That gave me something else to pray for. Everyone knows that all of us need to eat enough of each of the basic food groups, even if we partake of one of them only on Sunday.
+++
After a restful Sunday that offered an uplifting church experience, a couple of good dining experiences at places we don’t go to all week long, and plenty of time to read and take naps, I woke up Monday morning refreshed. I almost bounded from the bed. Almost, but not quite. Well, really I never considered bounding. Bounding is too fast for my taste.
I took care of all the preliminaries and scurried from the house. Okay, not only do I not bound, I never scurry either, but I didn’t dilly-dally when I left. Not with that creature hovering nearby. God really blessed me on that Monday morning. The only view I had of my neighbor was in my rearview mirror. She doesn’t look so bad that way, from a block away.
I pulled up in front of Lou’s apartment and waited for him to join me. He opened the door and looked worried and unsure of himself. I motioned for him to come on, which seemed to get him in gear. He hurried out to Lightning, opened the door, and plopped down on the seat.
“What’s wrong with you? Did my neighbor’s sister rent the apartment next to yours? Or did someone break in in the middle of the night and steal your Wii?”
“Worse than that, Cy. I got a message.”
I didn’t look in the rearview mirror, but I assume that all of a sudden my look resembled his. For years, any time someone was murdered, Lou got a message from God. Not a spoken word, but a thought or thoughts that had something to do with the case we were to solve. Lou never claimed that the messages were from God, but each day, Lou got a new message which provided a clue that related to whatever we would encounter that day. Because it had been only a few days since someone threatened the Colonel, both of us immediately feared for the Colonel’s life.
“I think we need to go in and call the Colonel, make sure he’s okay.”
“I agree, Cy.”
We lifted ourselves from the vehicle and hurried to Lou’s apartment. Lou opened the door and motioned for me to make the call. After a couple of rings, Martha answered the phone.
“Martha, I’ve something I need to talk to the Colonel about.”
“He just went out, Cy. He said something about discovering something and that he needed to spring a surprise on someone. Do you have any idea what he’s talking about?”
“Not a clue. Did he say where he was going and when he’ll be back?”
“He said he wouldn’t be long and told me that today would be a good day for me to run my errands. He told me he’d get his own lunch, that he had a couple of things to do before Joe shows up at 3:00 and that he didn’t want to be disturbed. I’ll be leaving shortly.”
“Okay, I’ll check back with him later. Thanks.”
I hung up and told Lou what Martha had said. Neither of us knew the Colonel’s habits, but we didn’t think that whatever the Colonel had planned was a part of his normal routine. We spent a few minutes trying to find him before we devoured breakfast. We cruised down the Colonel’s street a couple of times and rolled down a few other streets in the neighborhood. There was no activity on the street and no sign of his car. We drove through the parking lots of a couple of shopping centers in the area, searching for his car. Thirty minutes later, we arrived at the Blue Moon, defeated. We sat in the car, discussing the Colonel, because we never discuss business in public. One of us remembered that whoever threatened the Colonel seemed to suggest that whatever would happen to him would happen in his home, in his library. Could it be that it meant that the Colonel was safe while he was out? Our only recourse was to pull a few strings and put out a missing person report on the Colonel. We knew that the Colonel wouldn’t approve, so we dismissed the idea.
Abiding by the Colonel’s wishes, we did our best to enjoy ourselves and not bother him when he got home. We entered the Blue Moon, tried to act normal. Well, normal for us.
“We almost called the police on the police,” Rosie said.
“Do what?” I replied.
“I was getting worried about you. You’re never this late. We thought something had happened to you.”
“It did. The good sergeant and I were involved in a battle to the death game of Clue.”
“Well, we’re out of food.”
“I guess the sergeant and I will have to hold you hostage until the cook shows up with more food. We promise not to tie the ropes too tightly.”
“Oh, tight ropes are the best.”
“Just get us some food. I’m in the mood for biscuits with sausage gravy. Lots of biscuits. Lots of gravy. Also, bacon. And I’ll take an omelet with sausage, red and green peppers, hot peppers, onions, lots of cheese, and tomatoes.”
“And how about you?”
“I’ll have half of what he’s having.”
“Except for what?
“Except for nothing. I’ll have half of what he’s having. I lost the game of Clue, so I’ve to eat what he’s eating. I never could trust Miss Peacock. It’s those eyes.”
“I know what you mean. I had a date with that professor once. Some might think he’s a plum, but not me.”
“Just get us our food,” I said as I realized that that empty feeling I had never felt before might really be hunger. To gather enough strength to lift my knife and fork, I reached into my pocket and pulled out a brand new Hershey bar, just plucked from the refrigerator not two hours earlier.
I’m not superstitious, but I always start each day with a new Hershey bar. Not that I let the others go to waste. I finish off each one before I go to bed each night. That way I always have something to be thankful for when I go to bed.
After we finished eating and I took Lou back to his place so he could rest between meals, we discussed our day’s agenda, otherwise known as lunch. Because we were late eating breakfast, we agreed to be late for lunch, too. There’s something to be said about choosing your own schedule. It beats a dictatorship every day. Well, it beats it for everyone but the dictator.
A late lunch allowed me to finish reading Death On Demand before I picked Lou up. Since we read at about the same pace, he had finished the book too, so we discussed it on the way to the Blue Moon.
The Blue Moon offers two types of Swiss steak. The skillet version is a slab of beaten steak with a thick tomato sauce and green peppers. The baked version contains squares of meat, chunks of tomatoes, and rings of onions, unbreaded of course. I chose mine skillet style. Lou opted for baked. Both of us chose corn on the cob and mashed potatoes with brown gravy as our side dishes. Both of us took time to play with our food. Lou picked up an unbreaded onion ring and tossed it toward a piece of steak. He had me there. I had no game to match his, so I scooped up some tomato sauce and poured it on top of my pool of gravy that rose from the pothole I had made in my mountain of potatoes. I pretended I was an artist, mixing brown and red-orange brushing it on my napkin until I had just the right shade. Rosie appeared to ignore us until we had finished having fun and had consumed all the food she had put in front of us.
“So what can I get you boys for dessert?”
“I’ll have a pecan pie sundae.”
“And what is a pecan pie sundae?”
“Listen carefully. You take a large piece of pecan pie and put it in an even larger bowl. Then you mound as much ice cream as will fit on top of the pie. Chocolate ice cream. Then you hold the bowl under the canister that holds the hot fudge, and you hit the plunger until you have enough hot fudge on the ice cream that you cannot tell that it is chocolate ice cream. Follow me so far?”
“I don’t know. This is mighty complicated.”
“Next, you smother the concoction with whipped cream, and finish by putting a cherry on top. The cherry is important, because we are told to eat fruit. And I’ve also heard that nuts and chocolate are good for you.”
“I’ve heard that, too,” Rose replied, “only I heard something about moderation.”
“Moderation is for girls, so they c
an keep their figures. I need to maintain mine too, and moderation would make that impossible.”
“As you wish, Master.” Then, Rosie turned to Lou. “And you, sergeant, do you want the same?”
“I do, except I want butter pecan ice cream and caramel topping. I had chocolate yesterday, and I want to be careful I don’t get zits. I’m a dating man. He’s not. He can afford to live dangerously. I can’t. And could you prepare mine in moderation? I am watching my figure.”
“The doctor doesn’t by any chance have the two of you on some kind of exploratory medication, does he?”
“Of course not.”
“Well, if you have time when you leave here, you might check with him about that.”
As Lou scampered and I waddled from the Blue Moon, I looked at my watch. It showed 3:03. The last time we ate lunch that late was when we were working on a murder case. Thoughts of murder took me back to the Colonel.
We fell into the car, strapped ourselves in, and loosened our seatbelts as much as possible.
“Say, Lou, I don’t think you ever told me what today’s message was.”
“Didn’t I?”
“No, we started worrying about the Colonel. So what is it?”
“The Hunchback of Notre Dame.”
I sat there for a few seconds, looking at Lou. Then my brain engaged, the part that hadn’t been on proper medication. I contoured my body to get it to look like The Hunchback I had seen Charles Laughton play. “Water,” I uttered, in my best imitation of Charles Laughton playing The Hunchback.
“Sanctuary,” Lou replied, in his Hunchback voice.
I must have scared Lou as I hit the gas and took off. I did, because he told me that I did.
“What’s the matter, Cy?”
“Don’t you get it? Sanctuary. The Colonel has his sanctuary. I hope we’re not too late.”
A glum look appeared on Lou’s face. This was one of those times I wished I drove a gas-guzzler. A few seconds one way or the other might make all the difference in the world.
Chapter Nine
3 Murder In The Library Page 5