Bunny Elder Adventure Series: Four Complete Novels: Hollow, Vain Pursuits, Seadrift, ...and Something Blue

by J. B. Hawker

  Robb smiled to himself, thinking it had been anything but cold behind Nathan last night or earlier this morning.

  This was one of his more successful assignments. Not only was he having a great time with his new friend, but he also got the information Foxy wanted.

  Breaking out of the trees into the sunshine, Simpson hummed a snatch of the Tango tune, “Hernando’s Hideaway,” as he drove along, smiling.

  Walking into Art Fuchs’s office later that morning, Simpson still wore the expression of a canary-fed cat.

  “Okay, Robb. What did you get? Out with it.”

  “You know, Foxy, this really is a great little vacation spot you’ve been keeping to yourself up here. When I get back home and spread the word, you are going to be buried in transfer applications. And they will all be after your job.”

  “Cut it out, I know you’ve learned something. Tell me!”

  Art had forgotten Simpson’s irritating fondness for teasing.

  “Calm down, calm down, I’m getting to it.”

  Robb was openly laughing, now.

  “You are too easy, Foxy, there’s no sport in it...alright, down to business. You will read it in my official report, right here,” he said as he slid a manila folder across the table, “but the gist of it is that I made contact with one of the locals, name of Nathan Bucher. He confirms Winston Thomas was a sort of regular, sub rosa at the Oasis Bar. All the other irregular regulars knew what he was there for, but there was a tacit understanding the man wished to remain firmly in the closet, with the door locked and cotton plugging the keyhole.”

  “He was there the night in question, but he was high as a kite on something...not just drunk, you understand, and nobody felt like playing games with him. He made a scene and slammed out. No one followed right away and he didn’t say where he was going. Does that move you any further with the case?”

  “It confirms my theory, for one thing. Our killer is definitely targeting gays,” Fuchs said grimly.

  “We just got in touch with the family of our murdered transient. Turns out it’s what led to his homelessness. His father threw him out when he found out which way the wind blew.”

  “Three murder victims, all gay. I’d say you’ve definitely got a trend. So, this is some sort of serial hate crime?” Robb asked.

  “These three had more in common than just being homosexual. They were all three trying to pass as straight. Maybe it is just a coincidence, but maybe it’s the key to this guy’s motive,” Fuchs replied.

  “I hope you are right, because, in that case, I don’t have anything to worry about. For a minute there I was about to ask for an escort out of the county.”

  “Very funny. Use your cleverness to help me solve this thing, why don’t you? A guy who cuts up closet gays and uses them for Halloween decorations and yard mulch...tell you anything?”

  “Tells me he’s crazy, but you already knew that. Let me think about it, do some more asking around. I’ve got three more days on my leave. I don’t mind hanging around here.”

  “Thanks a lot, Robb. I really appreciate this. It’s great working with you again. How about coming to dinner tonight at my place? Phyllis would love to see you.”

  “I wish I could, Art, but I’ve got a prior commitment for this evening. I’ll check back with you tomorrow and compare notes. Right now, I have an irresistible urge to get down to work and see what I can bring up.”

  Chuckling to himself, Simpson swaggered out of the office. The next three days were going to be delightful.

  Sergeant Michelson passed Simpson in the doorway with a nod and walked up to Fuchs.

  “Forensics has finished with the Miller car, Lieutenant,” he said.

  “What did they find?”

  “Not much, I’m afraid. Some hairs, not the victim’s, some semen stain on the seat, and a torn piece of plaid, cotton-blend fabric, like from a cheap shirt.”

  “Whose semen, could they tell if it was the victim’s?” Fuchs asked eagerly.

  “Nothing conclusive according to the report.”

  “I suppose those hairs could have been from anyone who ever rode in that car, too. Not much help there. Did the fabric match any of the shirts found at the Miller house?”

  “No sir.”

  “Well, that’s something, anyway. We just have to find some man crazy enough to keep wearing a torn shirt he wore to a killing.”

  “Yes sir. That’s about it,” Michelson agreed.

  

  Yance and Sally Trainor were sharing a late breakfast in their redecorated sunroom, just off the kitchen.

  Sally buttered another biscuit and sighed.

  “Yance, I am so glad to have all that horrible, dark, Halloween atmosphere obliterated, at last. Promise me we will never have to do that again.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to worry about that. I’m cured. In fact, I think I’m still suffering the effects of all the spooky goings on,” her husband responded.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Last night I awoke thinking we had a ghost, or prowlers. I lay there, trying not to wake you, imagining all sorts of bumps in the night. It took ages for me go back to sleep.”

  “Are you sure there wasn’t a real prowler? Did you get up and look?”

  “Well, no...to tell the truth, it was all I could do not to pull the covers over my head. I guess finding the body here, and all, affected me more than I knew.”

  “I hope we won’t have that ‘post trauma stress’ thing giving us flashbacks for the rest of our lives, Yance.”

  “It was a pretty awful experience, but I suppose we will get over it, sooner or later. It was only a week ago, after all.”

  “Of course. You are right. I know what we can do to get our minds off it, though. Let’s make plans to have the whole family here for Thanksgiving. We are cutting it a little close, but if we start calling people this morning, I’m sure we can pull it off. How would you like that, Honey?”

  Sally sounded excited.

  “Why, sure, if you think you are up to it. Sounds like fun. Let’s start making some lists!”

  

  Their ghostly prowler from the night before was at that moment strolling on the sidewalk in front of the Lewis’s house, revisiting the site of his first big triumph.

  He had been returning off and on, these past few days, to all the places where he planted the bodies, sometimes even going into the houses, if no one was home.

  Wearing his lucky shirt, he knew he wouldn’t get caught. Still, it was almost as exciting as the other thing...almost.

  

  It was two o’clock in the afternoon and Manuela’s was nearly empty as Bunny and Max made their way to a booth near the window.

  After the chubby redhead in the Mexican dress took their orders, Max leaned over and grasped Bunny’s hand.

  “Bunny, we need to talk,” he said with a smile.

  “Couldn’t we have talked at the office?” Bunny asked.

  “I didn’t want to be interrupted before we get things settled.”

  “What things? You sound serious.”

  “I am. This is important. We need to decide when and where we are moving in together. I’m tired of playing hide-and-seek with you and tired of sleeping alone.”

  “Max, I don’t remember ever agreeing to move in with you.”

  “Maybe not in so many words, I suppose, but your actions told me you are as eager as I am. That’s why I wanted to talk about it, now. All we need to decide is logistics, but I want to get everything settled, so we can get a move on.”

  “I’m afraid you are moving just a little too fast for me. Logistics are the last step in a decision like this.”

  “Oh, and what do you think comes first? We love each other, we want to be together, and we are two consenting adults...what’s left?”

  “That part about ‘consenting adults’ went by a little too quickly. I haven’t consented and you’ve never asked. However, if you had asked, I would have had to say, ‘no.’
I don’t believe in living together outside of marriage, Max.”

  “Oh, come on. We all agree you are very religious and I’m sure that makes your pal in the sky really happy, but it never stopped you from sleeping with me before, so what’s the big deal about making it a little more convenient?”

  “Convenient? Is that what this is about, convenience?”

  “Of course, not. It’s about two people, who would be happier together than apart, doing the logical, practical thing. I’m surprised you are being so difficult.”

  “I am not being difficult, I am being impossible. Thank you for pointing out that I have been weak, sinful, and unfaithful to my principles. You have helped me to see myself a bit more clearly. I am ashamed of my behavior and I certainly am not going to exacerbate the situation by living openly with you, while we remain unmarried.”

  “Married, eh, so that’s what you want? We already tried that, remember? I’ve had all the marriage I care to have in this life. You can get that idea right out of your head.”

  “That’s not what I mean. I am not asking you to marry me. I wouldn’t any more marry a non-believer than I would live in sin with one. I am sorry I led you to believe I take my faith so lightly. That was my fault, not yours. Anyone would have assumed the same thing from my behavior. I am sorry. Truly.”

  “You’re sorry we made love? Well, I’m not. I’m just sorry you don’t have the guts to act on your feelings.”

  The little redhead brought their food just then and they broke off.

  Neither of them was hungry.

  Max and Bunny toyed with the food and avoided one another’s eyes.

  Max threw some money on the table, stood up and left without a word. He was obviously furious.

  Miserable, Bunny sat starring at the congealing cheese on her entrée. With a weary sigh, she arose from the table and left her enchilada untasted.

  Max’s parking space was empty.

  She buttoned her jacket and began the long walk to the office. She was going to be late getting back, but the boss would know why.

  The office was closed and dark when Bunny arrived.

  She unlocked the door and sat at her desk, resting her tired feet and thinking.

  She should be cleaning out her desk, she supposed. That was the only sure way to avoid this sort of unpleasant scene.

  Unfortunately, Bunny needed this job, or this paycheck, anyway. She could not afford to quit until she found other employment.

  She sat numbly, too tired even to think.

  With a huge shuddering sigh, she pushed herself to her feet like a very old woman. Squaring her shoulders, she spoke aloud.

  “Bunny, old girl, you are just going to have to face each day as it comes, and trust God to point you in the right direction. Right now, that direction is home.”

  Tomorrow would have to take care of itself, she thought, as she trudged the familiar streets toward her cozy bungalow.

  Later, wrapped in her comfortable old red robe, she sat gazing into the fire, clutching a steaming mug of chamomile tea.

  She chuckled and spoke to the cats.

  “This is ridiculous! I am a matronly middle-aged widow. How can I be having a quarrel with my lover because I refuse to live with him? I spent twenty years starved for sex, and now this! It’s too ludicrous for words.”

  The cats ignored her outburst, but Bunny felt better for it.

  It really was a ridiculous situation. Soon it would be behind her and she could settle into a more seemly life.

  She would find another job, she would fill her days with work and the church...and her nights?

  Her nights would be like this one, with the fire, her cats and a nice cup of tea.

  That less-than-comforting image sapped her last bit of energy.

  She decided to call it a night. Bunny turned out the lights, checked the locks, and climbed into her suddenly lonely bed.

  

  Officially, the authorities were keeping quiet about the sexual orientation of the murder victims.

  Small towns being what they are, it was soon common knowledge all of those killed had been closet homosexuals. It wasn’t long before word got out to the news media.

  Art Fuchs slammed down the phone on his desk and snarled at Michelson.

  “That was another one! I wish I could get my hands on the guy who blabbed about the gay connection in these killings. Now I’ve got to put up with reporters! As if I didn’t have enough to handle.”

  Michelson tried to sooth his superior.

  “It probably wasn’t just one guy who talked, Lieutenant. You know how it is...one or two told a wife or girlfriend, confidentially, and she told her sister or her cousin, and pretty soon everyone knows. It can’t be helped.”

  “But how can we catch the killer with our every move broadcast on national TV? Don’t reporters understand how much harm this kind of thing can do?”

  “I don’t think they particularly care, sir, as long as they get their story.”

  “You're probably right, Michelson. We are just going to have to try to work around them. I don’t suppose we are any closer to identifying the murder weapon, or weapons?”

  “No, sir. The autopsy reports indicate Winston Thomas’s death was the result of blunt trauma to the head caused by a large curved object, possibly a rock. The transient died from undetermined causes, maybe strangulation, before his decapitation, and it seems like Miller was suffocated prior to being dismantled. It’s almost like a game of Clue, with all the different methods of death.”

  “Well, I don’t think that Colonel Mustard did it in the library with the candlestick,” snapped Fuchs.

  “No, sir, probably not.”

  “Where are we on the interviews with all the contest entrants, anyway? Not that I think they will turn up anything. Odds are this isn’t some guy who was trying to sabotage the other displays in order to win a two-bit local contest.”

  

  Dinks Dodd was beside himself.

  Things were working out as he had hoped.

  It was just dumb luck he went to that hamburger place and overheard a couple discussing the gay angle on the killings.

  He didn’t go out much and the local papers hadn’t mentioned a thing about it.

  Dodd asked a few casual questions, just to be sure of the facts, then he emailed a few people he knew and, Shazaam!, the story was everywhere.

  From the network morning shows to CNN and Fox, every newscast had its report on the bizarre Halloween Hate Crimes in Clark’s Hallow. Even the Sunday supplements included articles about it.

  The streets were crawling with reporters.

  This was even better than he hoped. The timing was perfect.

  He had finished his work and soon everyone would know who he was.

  Dinks sat back in his chair looking, and feeling, smug.

  He was jostled out of his gloating reverie by a snatch of Chopin's Sonata Number Two in B-flat Minor, the tum-tum-te-tum of the Marche Funèbre, or funeral dirge. It was the newest ring tone on Dodd’s cell phone.

  He shuffled through the papers on his desk and came up with the phone.

  “Yeah?” he growled, before listening intently.

  “What for?” he spoke into the phone, “Oh, all right. When? No, I’m busy now, make it later....okay, I’ll be there.”

  The investigators wanted to talk to Dinks about the killings.

  He was annoyed, at first, but the more he thought about it, the more the idea appealed to him.

  This could be extremely useful.

  Dodd began rapidly making notes for that afternoon’s interview.

  Chapter 21

  Sin and satisfaction bring destruction and death. - Proverbs 1:32

  There was a message from Max on Bunny’s desk when she arrived at the newspaper office in the morning.

  He said he would be out for the day and asked Bunny to take care of a few things around the office.

  Bunny was not surprised he did not want to spend time wi
th her. She half expected him to fire her the next time they were in the office together.

  She took advantage of Max’s absence to check out the Help Wanted ads for any likely jobs, but found nothing. She would have to revisit the agencies.

  It was too bad she and Max couldn’t go back and start fresh as friends. She had known that getting involved again was a bad idea. If she was wiser and stronger, she wouldn’t be in this situation.

  So many of life’s difficulties could be avoided by simply obeying God’s commands. Why was that always such a surprise?

  

  Sitting in a little bar behind the Fisherman’s Wharf Marketplace, Max Banks nursed his drink and looked out at the San Francisco Bay.

  This was just what he needed. He had been stuck in Hicksville too long.

  What had he been thinking, wanting to live with Bunny again? He had forgotten how irritating the woman could be.

  She was crazy if she thought he would ever marry her, or anyone else, ever. Sure, he had been a little lonely when they met up, again. And, it was fun, for awhile...the sex had been nice…

  Hell, he could get better, anytime, and from younger and sexier women, too.

  He listened to the Irish bartender chatting up the waitress at the other end of the bar. She was eating up the guy’s accent.

  Max thought it probably wasn’t even authentic.

  Banks knew he could probably get further with her, if he tried, and he wouldn’t need a phony Irish accent, either.

  He just wasn’t in the mood.

  When he was in the mood, he could usually get where he wanted to go. He knew what women wanted to hear. Rational women, that is. Not religious fanatics like Bunny. Women like her were unpredictable and nothing but trouble.

  He had been smart when he walked away from her before.

  Now, how were they going to work together?

  He had promised her he would not fire her. Maybe she would quit. Perhaps he could encourage her to quit. That should not be too hard. Max knew which of her buttons to push, after all.

  Starting tomorrow, he would do what he could to make Bunny uncomfortable at work, and before you know it, she would be gone.