“Really? Something old fashion, you say?” My wife’s appraisal of the chain and locket started to give me a really creepy feeling.
“You’ll give it to Mr. Hogrove?”
“Yes, of course.”
It was then that Bo came into the dining room with my brother waddling close behind her, and Deputy Peterson following in his wake. I returned the locket and chain to my pocket.
“There you are. Do you need more ice, Old Sport?” asked Bo.
I told her that I was fine which apparently was the cue for her and my brother to join us at the table.
“How are you feeling?” Bo asked, playing doctor. “Any dizziness, nausea, slurred speech? Any light sensitivity?”
“No,” I said politely, as I got the feeling that her questions were for more Morgana’s sake than for mine.
“Stiff neck? Personality changes, like being irritable — ”
“If being irritable is a symptom of a concussion, Richard must have be hit on the head by a 2-by-4 when he was a child,” remarked Morgana.
“Amen to that, sister,” said Kyle.
“Whose irritable? I’m not an irritable person. When have I been irritable?” I protested.
“Well, you’re being very contrarian now, Dear,” countered Morgana.
“You just accused me of being irritable.”
“Well, you are, Richard. You have always been irritable and at times, quite irritating,“ added Morgana.
“No, I’m not,” I said in my defense. “Do the rest of you think I’m irritable?”
Everyone at our table refused to answer and avoided eye contact.
“You all think that I’m irritable?” I said in disbelief.
“Yes, we do,” said Morgana in a calm voice. “Your impatience and grumpiness is quite apparent to anyone who meets you. But we have a new problem now. How are we to determine whether your current denial of irritability is a symptom of your usual irritability or if it is a symptom of a new irritability brought on by your recent bump on the head?”
“Do you have a headache?” asked Bo.
“I was hit on the head with an iron crowbar. What do you think?” My response was just more grist for the mill.
“He sounds irritable to me,” commented Kyle.
“Definitely,” concurred Serena. “Morgana, you must monitor Richard’s behavior for his own sake.”
“It won’t be easy.”
Wanting to extricate myself from the discussion, I said, “I’m fine. I’m okay. Don’t worry.”
Serena and Morgana both responded in unison with a “Hmmm.”
“May I say something that has nothing to do with my health?”
“Go ahead,” said Kyle. “Since you are insisting that you are okay, the subject of your personal health is getting boring.” — I knew my brother was relishing in the fact that people were more taken with my mental capabilities than with his makeshift Cirque du Soleil outfit.
“Yes, Richard what is it that you want to say,” said Morgana, acting at the moment as discussion leader.
“What’s happening with our two dead friends?”
My question made the two law enforcers to sit up and take notice. Kyle asked, “What do you mean, Rich?”
“Well, and this is just a layman’s opinion mind you, we really shouldn’t leave Arezoo’s brother laying in the mud outside in this weather. We should also think about a course of action for our old friend upstairs.”
“Mrs. Prosper?” Kyle wrongly conjectured.
“No, Kyle,” corrected Bo, “Richard means our friend who checked out earlier this morning before you and your deputy arrived. Don’t you, Old Sport?”
“Yes, Foley or whatever his name is,” I said. I wished to heaven that Bo stopped saying, ‘Old Sport.’ It was getting on my nerves, and God only knows what Morgana thought after hearing ‘Old Sport’ over and over again.
“Well, don’t you trouble your aching head about it. Your brother, Peterson, and, I got Arezoo’s brother bundled up in one of Hograve’s plastic drop cloths — ”
“ — left over from his painting the kitchen last spring,” interrupted Peterson.
“Yes, deputy,” continued Bo.“With some rope, a little manpower, and a wheelbarrow, we got Mr.Hole-in-the-head into Hograve’s spare walk-in refrigerator while you were out here nursing your wound.”
“Can you do that?” I asked.
“It’s already done,” said Bo.
“I mean to put a body in the same unit where food is stored,” I countered.
“Not really, but our friend is wrapped up tight, and he is in the same storage area where Hograve keeps deer carcasses during hunting season.”
There must have been a punchline in what Bo had just said, but I wasn’t in the frame of mind to figure it out. “Locked up with the dead deer, is he? I suppose Foley will soon join him.”
“That is the plan,” said Kyle. “I was going to ask you for help in moving him. But with your head the way it is, I’ll try to get Foley’s business acquaintances to help me.”
“Speaking of the troubling trio, what did you after the two of you threw me out of the room?”
Serena and Kyle looked at me, then glanced at each other, then looked back at me. Peterson, in the meantime, grabbed a travel brochure about outlet store in the Manchester VT area from his back pants pocket and began to read. After a few seconds of indecision, Kyle spoke. “We suspect that . . . eh, we didn’t get the complete truth from them.”
“Really,” I said with mocking surprise.
“The three of them said that they went to explore, or as Smith put it, ‘They went on a walkabout to see how isolated we are.’”
“And?” I asked, hoping that my impatience didn’t show, and trigger another group discussion about my mental state.
“Those three confirmed what we already know. We are cut off from the rest of the world . . . both in travel and communications,” said Kyle. “Until this storm of the century lets up and the river calms down, we here are on our own. And that is a big problem.”
“That’s all you found out, Kyle?” I said in a huff. And again I had to remind myself to be calm, I didn’t want to hurt myself or to have others think that I was losing a grip. “You must have learned something else when you talked to them?”
“Well, what Kyle said is true,” said Bo. “We are cut off from the outside world and that gives us a huge problem. I also have no doubt that one of those guys in the next room hit you on the head and killed Arezoo’s brother . . . Though I haven’t the foggiest idea why he did.”
“Who’s the guy you think tried to kill me?”
“That is part of our problem, Old Sport, I’m not sure. As I put it together, all three might be in on it, and, to make matters worse, those guys maybe be armed. I don’t think we can go in there and throw our legal weight around expecting no repercussions — ”
“— No? If you suspect that someone in the next room tried to kill me, it’s your job to arrest him.”
“Richard, calm down. Lower your voice,” demanded Morgana in a firm but hushed tone as she grabbed my arm.
“Listen, Old Sport, we can't just go around accusing people of attempted murder without hard proof, which at the present time, we don’t have. And, even if we did have proof, under the current circumstances, we can’t arrest anyone without backup.”
”Backup! What for? Whoever shot Arezoo’s brother threw away his gun, remember? Kyle found it. And lest we forget, he tried to kill me with an iron bar.”
“We still don’t know whom to arrest exactly, and what makes you think, smarty pants, that there aren’t more guns around. We already found two very specialized weapons within four hours on the grounds,” Bo argued. “I have no evidence to think that there may not be more. Do you want to risk a gun fight and getting somebody killed?”
Bo was making sense, and it didn’t make me feel happy to admit it.
“If our killer killed once,“ added Kyle, “I don’t believe that he would think
twice about killing again if he thought that he was in danger.”
“And if there’s more than one involved in Arezoo’s brother‘s death,” Bo added, “then any misstep on our part could set off a pitched battle, a firefight here at the inn. So, I hope you’ll excuse us, Richard, if we don’t go into the next room with guns a blazing and start arresting people.”
The old Bo Boswell from my college days revealed herself again, and she sent a shiver down my back. “Point taken, Serena, point taken. You’re right. I didn’t think. We have two dead bodies, and I have a cracked skull. We don’t need any more trouble.”
“Serena, do you think Richard is presently in danger?” asked Morgana. Oddly enough that thought didn’t occur to me until Morgana spoke.
“I don’t think so,” said Bo. “Richard, I hear, was smart enough to suggest to our friends that he may have banged his head somehow on a beam in the cellar, and he doesn’t remember any details of his misfortune. They may have bought that. . . . But one never knows.”
Well, that didn’t sound very reassuring. “What else did you find out about those guys because people like me have a curiosity to know something about the person or persons who want to kill them.”
“They said that they were only business associates,” said Kyle.
“I already know that. What business are they in?” I asked.
“They say that they are involved in international construction projects,” said Kyle proudly. “They secure funding for and coordinate multi-billion dollar building projects in Canada, the UK, Ireland, Australia, the Mideast, and the US.”
“Mr.Williams, it appears, is the new guy in town. He arrived here late yesterday afternoon. All of them were to spend a few days here and informally discuss a proposed project up in Toronto.”
“Do you believe them?”
“Their story on the surface checks out,” said Kyle.
“But who knows for sure; we are in a communication black hole at the moment,“ said Bo, “we can’t verify their stories or their identities.”
There was that devilish glint in Bo’s eyes which historically proved that she knew more than what she was telling. In fact, I knew she knew more, but was she playing it close to her vest. Was she doing so because Morgana was present? It was food for thought that my scrambled brain didn’t want to digest at the time.
“When did these guys go out for their, so called, stroll through the storm?” I asked.
“They said that they left about two hours ago,“ said Kyle frustratedly. “They left together and were never out of the sight of each other during their excursion.”
“Or so they say,” chimed in Bo, ringing with skepticism.
“They reportedly hiked over to see where my patrol car jumped into the river for a swim,” continued Kyle, “where the road washed out, cutting us off from the mainland. They said that they saw no one running away from or to the inn while they were out. And they didn’t hear any shots.”
“Really,” I quipped.
“Well, to be honest,” said Kyle, “we didn’t hear any shots, either.”
“No, not the shots . . . I mean that in the middle of this torrential storm, these three middle age guys just get up and go for a walk to see a floating police car.”
“That’s what they said,” added Serena.
“Yeah, right.” My head throbbed. “Maybe . . . I don’t know.” I was hurting, and I felt frustrated. “They never left sight of each other, you say?”
“They were always together,” affirmed Kyle. “is what they said.“
“They’re lying. I can feel it in my bones.”
“You’re referring to your skull, Rich,”gibed Kyle.
Other than making a face of disapproval, I let his remark go and asked, “What are the plans for our friend Mr. Foley?”
Serena’s scheme had the perfect set-up for a typical grade ‘B’ horror movie. Murder victims are put in a meat locker for storage as a bumbling town sheriff looks for the killers at an isolated dwelling, in the woods. I became almost giddy conjuring who would play the ingenue in our little screenplay.
“Richard,“ said Morgana as she softly took my wrist, “are you okay? You were . . . giggling.”
“Sorry.” I suddenly found that I had become the center of attention for our little group, something that I didn’t want to be. “Let me just sum up what we know. We have a suicide or a possible murder. The victim, whose name may or may not be Foley.” Morgana was about to interrupt me on that last point. “Morgana, please don’t ask questions now. I need to kept things straight in my thinking. Where was I? . . . Ah, yes . . . we have Arezoo’s brother, who was shot at close range in the back of the head . . . and without a doubt is a murder victim. Previously to his untimely death, the guy was living in the inn’s boat house where there are no boats. We have an unknown girl in the cellar who —”
“Dear,“ said Morgana breaking my cadence, “there wasn’t any girl in the cellar.”
“Fine, then scratch the girl. I almost get killed by being whacked on the head by a rusty crowbar while I’m in pursuit of Arezoo’s brother’s murderer. In the process of said pursuit, I may have seen a young female whose name, identity, or her very existence is, at the present time, unknown. Are we happy now?”
My merry band didn’t answer, and at that moment, I became a little fearful that I was again displaying — though warranted — some irritability in my demeanor. I took a breath, and, in a calmer voice, I continued. “We are isolated here, cut off from the outside world. God only knows for how long. We are trapped here with a murderer or murderers, who maybe in the next room and are at this very moment planning our demise. Have I forgotten any major event or fact?”
“No, Sherlock,” agreed Kyle, “you summed up things pretty good.”
Morgana had looked at me with suspicion from the moment I let slip out that Foley’s name may not have been Foley. And I knew that she was itching to ask me questions which I didn’t have ready answers for. But as fate would have it, they were never asked.
“Think quick guys; Hograve is coming,” warned Peterson.
The innkeeper briskly walked into the dining area in our direction. He was pale as a ghost and was doing annoying little nervous finger twitches with the buttons on his sweater.
“Excuse me,” said Hograve, his voice trembled as he spoke, “but you all must come into the lobby . . . immediately.”
Serena asked, “Is there anything wrong, Mr. Hogrove?”
Morgana followed up with, “What is the matter?”
But all Hograve would say was, “You all must come to the lobby — Now!”
#
CHAPTER 11
When we got to the lobby, it became quite apparent why Hograve was acting so abruptly in fetching us. From what I could tell, everyone who was at the inn that day had assembled in the room. As Morgana, Bo, Kyle, Peterson, and myself entered the room, we were received by our rain-trekking trio, and each one was brandishing semi-automatic pistol, and each weapon was aimed at us.
It had been almost a year since I have had a gun pointed at me, let alone three, and it didn’t give me a warm fuzzy feeling. Before my impaired brain could fully assess the situation, my stomach felt like it dropped to the floor and was bouncing about in the cellar like an errant beach ball.
“You will all raise your hands, please,” ordered Smith. “That includes you too, Sheriff and you, Agent Boswell. I’m sorry, but there are no exceptions. That’s right, let’s see those hands go up high and let Mr. Hograve relieve you of the burden of your side arms.”
Dolan tossed the innkeeper an empty, olive drab rucksack which the distraught innkeeper barely caught.
“Mr. Hograve, would you do me a favor?” said Smith, feigning politeness. “Would you be so kind to take our guests’ weapons and the sheriff’s and deputy’s handcuffs, along with their keys, and put it all the bag.”
“But I — ” Hograve attempted to protest.
“Don’t waste my time. Just do it, Mr.
Hograve,” Smith countered in a chilling, staccato voice.
“What in hell do you think you are doing?” blurted Kyle. “You don’t—”
“Shut up, Kyle, and do what he says,” calmly instructed Bo.
My brother complied and put his hands up a little higher.
“Thank you, Agent Boswell. Your assistance is appreciated,” said Smith.
Hograve nervously, but quickly, collected the guns from Bo, Kyle, and Peterson, along with their cuffs and keys. He put all the items in the rucksack and gave the collection to Dolan. I couldn’t help but to notice that as he took the bag from Hograve, Dolan was eyeing me as if I were a curiosity in a zoo.
“I'm sorry,” said Smith, “to have gathered you all here under these stressful circumstances, but time is of the essence, as they say. And I must also apologize that we seemed to have run out of chairs, so I must ask that our new arrivals, please make the best of it and sit on the floor. In the center of our little gathering would be best.” Smith’s smarmy request was punctuated by his jabbing the air with his gun toward the floor where we were to plunk ourselves down.
Getting to our assigned sitting area was not a problem for Serena, Morgana, and, Peterson. For me, my head was hurting, so I was a little wobbly getting down to the ground. I remember that I leaned on Peterson, who was sitting on the floor, and lowered myself down by holding onto his shoulder.
Kyle, on the other hand . . . well, let’s just say, he made it to the floor as graceful as a pachyderm positioning itself onto an egg. He twisted and turned; he went into a sort of squat; then he got on all fours. All the time during this process, he constantly checked and rechecked the progress of his descent.
My brother’s maneuvering escapades provided enough of a distraction that I could momentarily scanned the room without being noticed by our hosts. It appeared to me at first that everyone whom I've met at the inn, except for our two dead friends tucked away with the venison, had been assembled in the lobby. I sensed someone was missing.
When my brother’s bottom finally touched down onto the floor, he started in with our captors again. “What is the meaning of this? You can’t hold the county sheriff and a federal agent by gun point and order us — ”
FATED TO THE PURPOSE (Richard and Morgana MacKenzie Mysteries Book 2) Page 15