by J. B. Hawker
He supposed he should be thankful to them, however, as it was his position as an outcast which drove him to writing stories of revenge against these more popular students, in order to vent his anger and ease his pain.
Those therapeutic diaries eventually became the very popular crime and horror novels he wrote under the pseudonym of c.x. stokerly.
Without his unhappy childhood, Dinks might have found himself living in a dump like this house from necessity, rather than merely choosing to do so in order to provide atmosphere while writing his newest book.
Sales had fallen off a bit on his last two novels and Dodd hoped a bit of hometown atmosphere would provide fresh inspiration for his latest effort.
The decorating contest murders were an unexpected bonus.
Now, his book was finished, his publisher was enthusiastic, and Dinks was ready to return to his hillside home in Santa Barbara, just as soon as he pulled off his anticipated publicity stunt.
Getting his name in the news just before the release of his book should really jumpstart sales.
His attorney was arriving in the morning and a friend in the press was on alert, so all was in readiness for his big scene.
Walter observed Max Banks getting into his big, black car and surmised he would return to his apartment across town.
He didn’t need to follow him.
Walter knew where most of the people in town lived and was familiar with the regular routines of many of them.
He knew, too, who left their doors or windows unlocked and where more than a few of the others hid their spare keys.
He had enjoyed exploring the empty homes of strangers since he was a small boy. He was seldom discovered, but on the rare occasions when Walter had been surprised by a homeowner, his look of slack-jawed confusion along with his reputation for being a bit slow, kept him out of the notice of the law enforcement agencies.
Walter had been interested in the newspaper editor ever since Banks came to town, just because he was someone new to observe.
Walter knew Banks would probably go home as he usually did, have quite a few drinks while watching TV, then go to bed and fall into a heavy sleep.
He knew, too, it was Banks’ habit to leave his bedroom and bathroom windows open a bit, even in the winter.
Walter did not have any need to hurry. He had plenty of time to make a detailed plan of how he was going to eliminate this man from Mrs. Elder’s life, just as he had eliminated her husband.
Walter was not very good at details, so he might have to think about it for just a bit first.
Walter was very good at avenging, though. Once he fixed the plan in his mind, there would be no delay.
Max sat fuming in his living room, drinking rum and tonic. It was a taste he developed during his years living at sea.
Max was beginning to think it might be time to return to the cruising life.
It would have to be on a slightly less grand scale, since his last wife took the biggest share of his investments, but if he could sell the newspaper, he would have enough money to get a smaller boat perfectly suited to a bachelor.
He could fly to Bonaire in the Netherlands Antilles, buy a sweet little boat and spend the rest of his life scuba diving in the mild waters or lolling under the palm trees in his favorite beach bars, feeling the sand beneath his feet and watching the tide roll out.
He’d luxuriated in that life once and loved it; it was so uncomplicated and undemanding.
Before going to bed, Max powered up his laptop computer and checked out sailboat bargains.
He finished his second (or third?) drink and climbed into bed determined to check into the feasibility of selling the Clarion-Review first thing Monday morning.
Lying awake with Betty and Veronica on either side of her pillow, Bunny was praying.
She thanked God for bringing Max back into her life for a short time, so she could feel young and desirable once again, and better able to get through the revelation about Eustace’s dishonesty.
Thanking the Lord for her family and friends, for the roof over her head and a job to pay the bills made her feel less desolate than when she first came home.
A woman from church offered her a ride, so she had not needed to walk home in the dark. She was so grateful for her good friends.
“Father God,” she went on, “I thank you for all your many blessings, for the things you give me I don’t deserve, and the things from which you spare me, even though much truer Christians than I am have to endure them. My blessings are abundant, and yet, I still dare to ask you for more. If it is your will, I pray for salvation for Max, that he will see the Truth, recognize it and accept it. That, if it is your will, we could spend the rest of our lives together loving you and each other...if that is not to be, then please, Lord, help me to find another job and help me to suffer through the pain, while I heal from this heartache...Lord, why do you let me love him if we can’t be together?”
With a sob, Bunny turned her face into her pillow.
Only the cats heard the mumbled, “Thy will be done. Amen,” as she resigned herself to another restless night.
Chapter 23
Too much pride can put you to shame.–Proverbs 11:2
Sergeant Michelson had scheduled Dinks Dodd’s second interview for eleven o’clock Saturday morning.
It was now eleven-fifteen, as Lieutenant Fuchs looked pointedly at the wall clock.
“If that clown doesn’t show up by eleven-thirty, I want a couple of deputies to pick him up and bring him in. If this is just more of his shenanigans I’ll see to it he has a night or two in a cell to think about it.”
Just then, a deputy hurried into the office.
“Looks like we’ve got an incident out front!”
“What’s up?” Fuchs snapped.
“It’s that man you were expecting earlier, sir. He’s set up some sort of press conference in the lobby. He’s got his lawyer with him and a whole bunch of guys with cameras and microphones,” the excited deputy replied.
“Oh, for crying out loud! What now?”
Fuchs moaned as he and Michelson rushed downstairs.
They reached the lobby just in time to hear the comments of the man with Dodd, who seemed to be his attorney.
“That’s right. My client, c.x. stokerly, has been accused of being the vile Halloween Hacker who committed the recent rash of heinous crimes here in Clark’s Hallow. We are, of course, outraged and will prove beyond any doubt Mr. stokerly, a renowned novelist of best selling thrillers, is completely innocent of the unspeakable deeds of which he is accused.”
Fuchs moaned, again, as the reporters snapped photos and shouted questions to Dodd and his mouthpiece.
Stepping forward, he addressed Dodd.
“What is going on here, Dodd?”
“I am just exercising my rights, Colonel Foxhound. Surely, even here in the hinterlands, you recognize the rights of the accused to have an attorney present when being subjected to the third degree?”
With reporters’ voice recorders catching their every word, Foxy knew he had to watch what he said. He could not show how very angry he was.
“Mr. Dodd, you must realize you have not been charged with any crime. We merely want to ask you a few questions to help us with our investigation, as I have explained.”
A reporter shouted, “Who’s this ‘Dodd’ you keep talkin’ about? Why you callin’ c.x. stokerly ‘Mr. Dodd’?”
“I believe I can clear up your confusion, gentlemen,” the lawyer said.
“My client, c.x. stokerly, has his roots in this charming, rural area. Before becoming the brilliant writer of multiple best-sellers, c.x. stokerly, he was known by his birth name of Denver Dodd.”
“Denver?” blurted Sergeant Michelson, “We only know him as Dinks!”
Dinks quickly diverted attention from the sergeant’s outburst by loudly misquoting, “The greatest prophet gets no honor on his home court, as
you know, gentlemen.”
Fuchs had enough.
“You and your publicity agent can come with me, Dodd. We had an appointment forty-five minutes ago.”
“Mr. Scott is my attorney, Fuchs.”
“Oh, yeah. Sorry. An obvious mistake,” smiled Fuchs.
Once in the quiet of the interview room, Fuchs turned serious as he asked Dodd/stokerly to explain himself.
“My client, the famous c.x. stokerly, is entitled to be represented at any interview, officer,” interjected the lawyer, officiously.
“What about that circus out there?” Fuchs demanded.
“My client, c.x. stokerly, is a famous writer and renowned public figure. It is only natural his movements should be closely followed by the members of the press.”
“Okay. I get the picture. Now that you have gotten the press coverage you obviously wanted, Dodd, perhaps you can answer our questions with a bit more candor than you did the other day.”
Fuchs and Michelson carefully went over the original questions and a few new ones.
Dodd answered honestly and it soon became apparent he could be no help to them in the investigation.
He had been leading them on, just so he could stage that little scene in the lobby and get some free publicity.
“Okay, Dodd. You can go. But, if you make any more fuss, I’m arresting you for impeding our investigation, got it?”
Dodd appeared to be somewhat chastened.
He and his companion quickly left the Sheriff’s Department, giving the waiting press a terse, “no comment.”
“Well, you must have put the fear of God into him, anyway, Boss,” approved Michelson.
“Don’t you believe it. That snake knows his ‘no comment’ is the perfect way to whet the reporters appetites and keep his story alive long enough to see print. What a creep. Hmmm...c.x.stokerly...you know, I think my wife reads his books. After this, I’m throwing out every one.”
Chapter 24
All who are wise follow a road that leads upward to life and away from death.
–Proverbs 15:34
As Bunny ambled along the tree-lined lane a few blocks from her home, she hummed a snatch of the morning’s closing hymn. It was one of her favorites, Wonderful Grace of Jesus. The intricate harmony and soaring high notes of the old-fashioned music filled her with exhilaration.
She often lamented the way modern hymnals tended to dumb-down the sacred songs to make them more accessible to non-singers. Transposing the music to eliminate the top and bottom ranges, and making everything unison, seemed to Bunny to take the life from the songs, leaving them nothing better than jingles.
God’s Truth Baptist Church still clung to the traditional music and rituals, stubbornly resisting all the current progressive movements.
She supposed their small congregation (just under one hundred at last count) was partially a result of this reluctance to change.
Bunny loved the old music and ceremonies, though. They could elevate her above her mundane concerns and lift her heart to God. Nevertheless, the service this morning flowed around her, leaving her heart untouched.
She had given up hoping for inspiration from the sermons.
No matter what message Pastor Roberts shared, nor how eloquently he declaimed it, Bunny could not erase the memory of their encounter over Eustace’s pornography collection.
Maybe it would be better if she looked for another church.
Walking along in the gusty wind, she wondered if the solution to her problems might be more radical than simply finding a new church or a new job.
She was beginning to think she needed a complete change; a totally fresh start in some place without all the unpleasant memories.
Later, as Bunny was cleaning up after lunch, her sister Jean popped in with a batch of newspapers.
Bunny poured their tea, while Jean shrugged out of her coat.
“How do you like my new jacket, Bunny? Isn’t it great? I got it for forty per cent off. I have always wanted one with a fur collar like this, so when I saw it marked down, I just had to get it. The deep berry color will be cheerful all winter, don’t you think?”
“It is lovely, Jean, even prettier than your new brown suede one. I’m sure you will get a lot of pleasure from wearing it,” Bunny replied.
“Oh, look, Bunny. I wanted to be sure to show you this article in the Sunday paper...I made Nick hurry up and finish with it, so I could bring it along with the others. It says here, we have had a famous author living in Clark’s Hallow. And you will never guess who it is! Remember that creepy little kid you went to school with?...Dinks Dodd? It turns out he writes those awful horror books. You know, the ones that make Stephen King’s books seem like bedtime stories in comparison. C.X. Stokerly is his pen name, only he spells it without any capital letters. Can you imagine?”
Bunny began reading the article Jean had thrust across the table.
“It says here the police were questioning him about the murders. Do you suppose he’s the killer?” she asked.
“Well, I’ve read a couple of his books and I say anyone with a mind like that could do just about anything.”
“He was such a weird kid in the old days; wouldn’t it be wonderful if they’ve got the murderer, Jean?”
“It sure would. The killer has been quiet lately, now Halloween’s past, but I’ve been hoping by Turkey Day our list of thanks could include having that lunatic safely locked away. Then we could relax and really concentrate on Christmas and all the lovely presents!”
After Jean left, as Bunny sat by the fire tackling a basket of mending, she thought about her sister’s visit and smiled to herself.
“If I ever got up the courage to act on my dream of a fresh start, I would be giving up my little tea parties with my sister, wouldn’t I, Betty?” she asked the cat perched beside her.
Typically, the reticent feline had no opinion on the subject.
With no stimulating conversation on offer, Bunny decided to go to bed with a good book...definitely not one written by the vile and pretentious c.x. stokerly.
Chapter 25
..a time to weep..- Ecclesiastes 3:4
Next morning, Bunny approached the newspaper office with trepidation.
As a child, she looked forward to the day when she would be all grown up. When that magical day arrived, she knew she would never again be the victim of insecurity, embarrassment or uncertainty in any situation. On that glorious day, she would cross into the world of those in control of their own destinies, the Adults.
Bunny had long since realized, while it may be possible that some people actually did become more assured and confident with maturity, the years only distilled Bunny’s personality into a more intense version of the original mixture.
She became slightly more adept at concealment, perhaps, but her uncomfortable emotions continued to lurch about clumsily within.
Taking a deep breath, Bunny forced herself to open the door and face whatever this day had in store.
Max Banks had been in the office for more than an hour already that morning.
Unable to sleep, he arose early and went for an unaccustomed run.
He was chagrined at how quickly he began to gasp and clutch the stitch in his side. He would need to be certain to have a daily run on the beach when he got to the islands.
If he were going to resume teaching scuba diving to the tourists, he would have to get back into shape.
Once at the office, Max wasted no time in setting his plans into motion. His decision made, he was anxious to get away.
Banks could not even remember the feelings which brought him back to these mountains. He must have been delirious.
Fortunately, his mind was now crystal-clear, just like the waters around Bonaire.
When Bunny stepped hesitantly into the office, for just a moment Banks could not place her. He was so engrossed with exciting plans for the future, this bit of his past did not even register in his mind.
Max’s blank stare and
lack of greeting further distressed Bunny. She was turning to leave when Banks spoke.
“Oh, yes, Bunny. I’m glad you are here. I’ve got some news I think will interest you.”
Coming back to reality long enough to remember what had inspired his planned escape, Max felt a spasm of pain and longing. He quashed it with the memory of Bunny’s refusal to compromise her precious religious fantasies.
“What news?” Bunny almost whispered. Something in Max’s manner frightened her.
“I have decided to sell the Clarion. I’m meeting with some men this afternoon who may be interested in taking over. If we can strike a satisfactory deal I should be able to leave Clark’s Hallow in a matter of weeks.”
Noting the look of dismay Bunny could not control, he added, “I will encourage the new owners to keep you on, of course. You have been a valuable asset to the paper, so you shouldn’t have to worry about keeping your job.”
Bunny could not think. She could scarcely breathe.
Nodding her head to show Max she heard him, she tried to frame a coherent reply to his deplorable news.
“What...when...why?” she gasped.
“How long have you been planning this?” Bunny managed to choke out.
Her obvious distress had a softening effect on Max.
“It was a rather sudden decision, I know. I’m sorry to have to spring it on you like this,” he said.
“Bunny, you know things haven’t been very comfortable between us. After last Friday, they could only get worse. This is a sudden decision, but I know it is the right one. I should never have come back here.”
“No. Coming home was the right thing to do. Home is the best place to lie low and lick one’s wounds,” Bunny spoke calmly now.
“I think this new choice may be the mistake. Are you sure you are not just running away, again?”
As usual when her emotions were in turmoil, Bunny was becoming detached and clinical, switching into her best Wife of the Pastor mode.
She cringed inwardly as she heard herself, but she was powerless to stop.