by John J. Lamb
Suddenly, I was aware that Mulvaney, Delcambre, and several uniformed cops were moving past me. The patrol officers handcuffed Todd and half-carried, half-dragged him from the stage as the room exploded with the sound of anxious voices.
“So, it really was a mistake,” Mulvaney said.
“That’s how it’ll play in court, because you’ll never be able to prove otherwise, but don’t you freaking believe it. That isn’t genuine shame and remorse.” I jerked my cane in the direction of the cops as they dragged Todd out the door. “He’s just upset that his life as a hero is over…and fifteen minutes from now, it’ll be somebody else’s fault.”
Twenty-three
Ash joined us on the stage and I noticed she looked troubled.
I asked, “What’s wrong?”
“Honey, you may be used to watching a person tearfully confess to a brutal murder and then go catatonic, but it’s still a pretty new experience for me. That was awful.” She slipped her hand into mine and gave me a tender smile. “And by the way, I’m so proud of you. How did you figure out why Todd did it?”
“Yeah, and what was that crap you gave us in the car about how you’d rather be with your wife than finish the investigation?” Delcambre demanded.
“Did he really say that?” Ash asked.
Delcambre gave my wife a wary look. “Hi, Mrs. Lyon.”
“Hello, Sergeant Delcambre.”
“Relax, her sewing supplies are in the exhibit hall,” I said. “And I was done for the day, right up until I heard him moaning about his missed opportunity to save Jen. That’s when it all began to make sense.”
“How so?” Ash asked.
“He glossed right over the circumstances of her death, but made a big deal over how devastated he was that he couldn’t save her. That’s when I became convinced that he was your classic emergency service glory junkie. Think of the cop that injures himself in an imaginary life-threatening fight with a suspect, just because he wants to be admired by his peers.”
“Oh.” Ash’s eyes widened and I knew she was remembering a bogus assault-on-a-police-officer case I’d worked on years ago that I’d eventually forwarded to Internal Affairs.
“Or the firefighter who starts an apartment-house blaze so that he can ‘discover’ it,” said Mulvaney.
“Exactly. Anyway, it just seemed to me that as long as Todd was in the mood to wax nostalgic about his devotion to Jennifer, that there was a good chance to roll him. Luckily, I guessed right.” I let go of Ash’s hand for a moment to grab the trophy from the podium and hand it to Mulvaney. “Here. You’ll want this. It’ll probably keep him feeling guilty if you have it in the interview room while you talk to him.”
“Thank you, Brad. For everything.” Mulvaney took the trophy.
“And can you do me a favor? When you get the chance, check on Donna Jordan’s status at the hospital. If she’s still there, I’d like to go over and talk to her.”
“We’ll give you a call later,” said Delcambre. “Meantime, we’ve got a prisoner to take to the station.”
As I turned to take Ash’s hand again, Lisa blindsided me. She threw herself against me, wrapping her arms around my chest, while suffocating me with the overpowering scent of a perfume that probably had some edgy name such as “Crazed” or “Bondage,” but smelled like Jordan Almonds. Meanwhile, Ash looked as if she was thinking about winding her right fist up, à la an old Popeye cartoon, and smacking the teddy bear judge across Chesapeake Bay and over to the eastern shore of Maryland. I wouldn’t have blamed her if she did, but this was my problem and I had to address it.
“Oh Brad, that was one of the most amazing things I’ve ever seen in my life,” Lisa said breathlessly. “You were so brave and you’re so smart.”
“Hold that thought,” I said, disengaging myself from her grasp. I turned to the microphone and tapped it to make sure it was still on. “Excuse me, before we resume the award ceremony, I’d like to ask the group something.”
The hum of low conversation died.
“I have a question about Lisa Parr, or Quesenberry, or whatever her name is this month. I don’t know whether she needs glasses or not, but she’s been hitting on me like a woodpecker on a suet cake and she’s fully aware that I’m happily married to the sweetest and most beautiful woman in the universe.” I paused to glance at Ash for a moment and then looked back at the crowd. “I didn’t understand what Lisa’s major malfunction is. But I’ve since learned that this is her MO at teddy bear shows. Is that true?”
There were nods and many murmurs of assent.
I’ll give Lisa this: she was tough under pressure. She pretended to be surprised and then smirked. “Somebody certainly has a high opinion of himself. Me? Attracted to a flabby old guy like you? Please. That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Maybe so, but can I have a show of hands as to how many of you think that she is the perfect artist to design and make a line of stuffed animals called Bimbo Bears?”
Everyone’s hand immediately shot skyward and there was about a second’s worth of silence before the laughter and applause began.
“Thank you. As always, the teddy bear community has restored my faith in humanity.” Stepping away from the microphone, I smiled at Lisa, whose lower lip was trembling. “Was it good for you, honey?”
We needn’t have stayed for the rest of the award ceremony. Dirty Beary won an honorable mention, which was a little embarrassing, because I’d always known the bear should never have been nominated in the first place. Unfortunately, Ash’s snow tiger didn’t do any better than Beary. It, too, was awarded an honorable mention; however, a collector purchased the tiger before we left the room. Another collector offered to buy Beary, but I declined, because I’d already decided to give it to Sheriff Tina when we got back to Remmelkemp Mill.
Still, we had a pretty good time. We met lots of teddy bear artists and fans and I was peppered with dozens of questions. I had to beg off from saying anything about the ongoing murder investigation, but I was happy to answer any and all questions about Lisa. Later over dinner, I had the opportunity to bring Ash up-to-date on everything else that had happened, including the cheering news of Wintle Toys’ decision to void their contract with Tony Swift and their interest in coming to some sort of licensing agreement with Donna Jordan.
It was just after seven o’clock when Delcambre telephoned to tell us that Donna was still at Mercy Medical Center. Her blood pressure was so dangerously high that she’d been admitted for observation and would be in the hospital overnight. Thirty-five minutes later, we were outside her room. I didn’t think it would be good for Donna’s blood pressure if I entered unannounced, so I asked Ash to go in first. She did and after a little while, she opened the door and told me I could come in.
Donna was sitting up in the hospital bed looking twenty years older than when I’d last seen her. There was an IV inserted into her left wrist, a blood pressure cuff around her right bicep, and so many sensor wires attached to her body that she resembled a life-sized marionette. She looked at me and I noticed that the electronic chirping sound marking her heart rate accelerated a little. I decided to stay near the door for now.
“Hello, Brad. Your wife told me a little about what happened.” Donna was hoarse and I knew it was from screaming. “I’m sorry for everything I—”
“Donna, you don’t have to apologize to me. You had every reason in the world to think I’d double-crossed you.”
“You can come a little closer.”
“Thanks, I’d like that.” I went over and stood next to the bed, slipping my hand over Ash’s.
“What will happen to Todd?” Donna asked.
“Probably a plea bargain to the Maryland equivalent of voluntary manslaughter and then prison. It’s where he belongs.”
“That’s sad. He was one of Jen’s victims, too.”
“He chose to be a victim.”
Donna met my gaze and I think she understood the unspoken part of my last st
atement. Then she looked away and said, “Ashleigh told me that you had something to do with Wintle Toys breaking their contract with Tony to make the Cheery Cherub Bears. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. However, Jeffrey Wintle asked me to pass this along to you with a message.” I handed Donna the business card. As she studied the engraved printing, I continued, “He said that he’d like to offer you the Cheery Cherub Bears licensing deal, and to call him. He’s still here in Baltimore if you’re interested.”
There was a small plastic waste receptacle attached to the bed’s safety rails. Donna tossed the card into it with the other trash. Then she pulled a tissue from a box sitting on the small table adjoining her bed.
Dabbing her eyes, she said, “No, I couldn’t do that. I made those cherub bears for my baby and it would dishonor his memory to see them turned into something tawdry.”
“That’s what I figured you’d say, but I at least wanted to give you the opportunity.” Then I leaned my cane against the bed and slowly reached out to touch her hand. “But can I just give you something to think about before we go?”
“What?”
“You loved Benjamin more than anything and you’d have given up your life for him, wouldn’t you?”
Donna sniffled and nodded.
“How do you think he’d feel to know that the only thing he represents in your life now is a source of hurt and anger?”
Ash reached out to stroke Donna’s shoulder.
“This entire Cheery Cherub Bears torture session is over. You can make a fresh start. So, if you could give up your life for him, think about giving up the rage. You both deserve far better than that.”
Donna didn’t say anything else, so we sat there a little while longer in silence. When it came time to leave, Ash leaned over to give Donna a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Then we drove back to the Maritime Inn.
Later that night, as we lay in bed in the hotel room, Ash said, “You’ve been very quiet.”
“Just thinking.”
“About Jen’s murder?”
“Hell, no. The last thing I want to do is give another second’s worth of thought to that sleazy mess. No, I was thinking about the next teddy bear I want to make.”
“Really?” Ash rolled over and snuggled up next to me. “Tell me more.”
“Well, if you can have the Confection Collection, why can’t I start a line of fictional cop character bears? Dirty Beary was the first…” I leaned over to kiss her. “And the next one is going to be an authentic Sergeant Joe Fur-day from the original Dragnet series from the nineteen-fifties. Thank you for showing me a new and wonderful life, my love.”
“My pleasure, Inspector Lyon.”
And so I lay there in the darkness, listening as Ashleigh’s breathing grew slower. Soon, she was asleep. But I was wide awake, wondering just how the hell I was going to make a Fedora hat for a teddy bear.
A TEDDY BEAR ARTISAN PROFILE
Dolores J. Austin
In Chapter Six, Brad Lyon meets a woman named Dolores Austin and tells her how much he admires her Winnie the Pooh shadowbox tableau. The artist is a real person and my wife, Joyce, and I met her at a teddy bear show in Timonium, Maryland, in April 2005. Dolores’s Pooh creation won first prize in her judging category at the prestigious Teddy Bear Artist Invitational (TBAI) held in Binghamton, New York, in August 2005. It was one of the high points of her life as a teddy bear artist.
Dolores lives in Dunmore, in northeast Pennsylvania, and her passion for making stuffed animals evolved from a series of earlier artistic endeavors. Her first creations were Tole painted items that were so well received, one of her handmade ornaments hung on the White House Christmas tree during the Clinton presidency, while another piece is currently housed at the Smithsonian Institute. This led her to creating rag dolls with hand-painted faces and, finally, teddy bears in 1995.
“After that, I was hooked. I just knew that I was great at designing! But, yikes! Looking back, my first bear still scares me,” Dolores told me with a laugh.
That may be, but if so, the quality of her work improved both swiftly and tremendously, as is evidenced by her success at TBAI. She’s also won awards at many regional teddy bear shows and in 2005 her seventeen-inch bear, Madison T. Bera, was nominated for a Golden Teddy, one of the top artist awards in North America. Madison is a sweet little girl bear wearing white baby shoes, an infant’s short-sleeve shirt, and a diaper—one of Dolores’s signature items of ursine apparel for her “Bearied Treasure” editions of baby boy and girl bears. And the diapers have been known to provoke some interesting conversations at teddy bear shows.
Dolores said, “Most people are surprised when they push the diaper down a little bit and see the bear has a belly button. Inevitably, someone will ask me if the bears are anatomically correct…”
With that said, you’ll have to hunt Dolores down at a bear show to get the answer.
As with most artists, Dolores thinks long and hard about how a bear will look before she even begins to draw the pattern. It has to literally “jump” from her head before she’s satisfied that the bear is ready to be “born.” And she only creates a few at a time. Most of her bears are made as either one-of-a-kind or in extremely small editions. Along with creating bears from mohair, leather, and old fabric, Dolores also works in a medium known as needle-felting. This is a process by which large beds of steel needles are moved in and out through wool to create felt, fabric with designs, or three-dimensional shapes.
“It’s almost a lost art form,” said Dolores. “It’s time consuming, but you have the ability to add features to your sculpted bear that aren’t possible with other materials. Your creativity can really flow with felting!”
However, her biggest joy is going to teddy bear events where she can show off her furry friends to collectors.
“That’s when the real fun begins,” Dolores said with a smile.
If you have any questions about Dolores’ wonderful bears or her schedule of appearances at events around the country, she can be contacted via e-mail at Dolores@ BearMaker.com.
Afterword
If you ever visit Baltimore, I heartily recommend that you explore Fell’s Point. I love the district and it’s worth noting that the bookshop visited by the fictional Lyons is a real place, a store called Mystery Loves Company. (However, don’t go looking for a Pam and Pom mystery: the books exist only in my imagination…although I’m tempted to write one.)
Similarly, while there is no Har-Bear Expo Teddy Bear Show, Maritime Inn, Basingstoke Township, Dumollard Ani-Media, or Wintle Toy Company, several of the teddy bear artists named in this book are real people: Cindy Malchoff, Marsha Friesen, Penny French, Anne Cranshaw, and Karen Rundlett, among others. Furthermore, the story of how a photograph of Brad holding one of Karen Rundlett’s bears ended up in Smithsonian magazine is taken from real life. It happened to me while my wife and I attended a San Diego teddy bear show in January 2002. The picture appeared in the August 2002 edition of the magazine.
Finally, the Teddy Bear Artist Invitational event mentioned in the book is a genuine event that teddy bear fans can attend. It’s a great show and the proceeds go to help save endangered species. In 2006, I was blessed with the opportunity to do the national launch for The Mournful Teddy at TBAI. The show featured a mystery theme (a teddy bear was kidnapped…or cubnapped, I haven’t decided which yet) and I was invited to participate as the “Chief of Fur-ensics,” a position created by Penny French, one of the event’s organizers. The punning title was so deliciously awful, I was compelled to incorporate it into this book, but Penny deserves the credit…or blame.
The Invitational is held annually in mid-August in Binghamton, New York, and you can learn more about it by visiting the web site at www.tbai.org.