Chapter Thirty-Six
As is many times the case when I’m really tired, I had a nightmare that night. Any dream that has my next-door neighbor in it is a nightmare, whether I have it at night or during the day, whether I’m asleep or awake. In my most recent nightmare, I found myself on a country road. Lightning had broken down and I was soaked after being caught in a downpour. So far, my dream matched my reality of a few days earlier. But soon, the two would part ways. In my nightmare, I looked up. The moon cast shadows on the tombstones that towered over me on both sides of the road. Things were bad until some of those shadows started moving. A pack of wolves were about to have me for dinner. I started to run, when, off in the distance, headlights burst through the gloom of the night. Afraid of the bright lights, the wolves slunk back behind the tombstones. I was about to be rescued. Seconds later, the car grew abreast of me and stopped. I looked at the two people inside, and immediately began to seek out the wolves. But a claw reached out from inside the car and corralled me by the collar. My next-door neighbor held me until she could open the car door and get out. The young boy, who sat beside her, who carried the hammer and nails, jumped out and ran around the car toward me. He started hitting my feet with his hammer until I could feel nothing but pain. And then he hit me on the knee. My knee jerked, but I couldn’t get away. The boy and my next-door neighbor spotted an outhouse nearby, and they began to drag me toward that outhouse. They took me and shoved me inside that smelly edifice. The boy started to hammer the door shut, but my next-door neighbor shouted at him to wait. Then, she climbed inside with me, and hollered, “Now.” I felt myself clawing at the door, trying to get out, but to no avail. It was then that I woke up, sweating, but still clawing at the door. After I was awake enough to think clearly, I looked around, and saw that my next-door neighbor was not around. Then, I turned the doorknob and stepped out of the closet, and once I could breathe normally again, I fell back into bed. If I was going to have nightmares like that, I planned to check with the doc to see how I could get insomnia.
+++
The next morning I woke up earlier than I expected and after getting my blood circulating, I stepped up onto the Wii board. I smiled as it informed me that I’d lost quite a bit of weight. Then I put my second foot on the board and reality sank in. I unmuted it after I was sure it had quit calling me names like Cupcake Belly and Cheesecake Butt, or whatever it was calling me. For the next few minutes I kept gyrating, even after my body hollered for me to stop. I hollered things like, “Take that, cupcake,” and “You, too, cheesecake,” and other tidbits that made no sense at all. I was sure it was all a reaction to my nightmare, and my battle with the Wii troll.
I collapsed onto my recliner, until my coronary had passed, then stumbled off to the bathroom. I showered and spent a few minutes with God, but it was still a little early to call Lou, so I reached over and picked up the latest issue of the AARP magazine, which had come the day before, while we were gone. I glanced at the cover and was fascinated by an article called Age-Proof Your Brain. Now, people would line up to say it was a little late for me, but I flipped the magazine open to page 52, and glimpsed at the article. The article said pretty much what I expected it to say, like do aerobic, strength, and balance exercises, which I was already doing, and eat plenty of fish, vegetables, fruits, and nuts, which I had recently begun to do. It also talked about making friends and getting together with them. Lou and I had been friends for a long time, but now I had a new friend in Jennifer. I wanted to get together with her as much as possible. When I got to number six, I picked up a pen to take notes. Six was called Spice It Up, and it named several spices to include in my food; black pepper, cinnamon, oregano, basil, parsley, ginger, and vanilla. All of them were said to help those leetle gray cells, as Hercule Poirot called them. I wondered if vanilla ice cream counted as vanilla. I got so absorbed in reading the article that I lost track of time until Lou called to see where I was. It was 9:40. We could still make it if I got my rumboogie in gear and headed out the door. Regardless, I doubted if the girls would lock the door on us if we were a little late. My mind drifted back to the article. I wondered if I should take some black pepper, cinnamon, oregano, basil, parsley, ginger, and vanilla to sprinkle on my cupcakes. I quickly filed that away to use the next time we made a trip to Danville.
Even though Lou said we were in danger of being a little late, he still had time to play mind games when he called. He pretended that I was so late that he hadn’t waited on me, but had gone to Thelma Lou’s on his own.
“Oh, weren’t you there, Cy? Boy those cupcakes, that pecan pie, and that turtle cheesecake were delicious. But they didn’t compare to that kiss Jennifer planted on my lips before she left.”
“If you shut up I promise to share my nightmare with you after I stop by to pick you up.”
“Oh, that’s okay, Cy. I don’t want your next-door neighbor. She’s not my type. Remember, I already have my dream girl.”
We had wasted another couple of minutes. It was 9:42. Enough of this gobbledygook. I needed to get off the phone so I could leave and pick up Lou, and then head for my sugar.
I walked out my back door to where I’d left Lightning a couple of days earlier, when we left on our road trip. I almost stumbled over a tricycle, hammer, and bucket of nails that I found in my path. They were setting next to the sandbox. All the way over to Lou’s I thought of ways I could get even with George. I thought of mailing my next-door neighbor a love letter, signed as if George had sent it, and include his address. But I figured that if I did, God would send me back to that outhouse, maybe for a whole week. I wondered why George didn’t get punished when he did something bad to me, but God always punishes me, even if I only have bad thoughts about someone else.
+++
Lou and I arrived at Thelma Lou’s and Jennifer did her best to make me feel welcome. Lou watched for a little while and acted like he was going to throw up, until he and Thelma Lou tried to copy us. It was a poor imitation. There is only one original.
We had consumed four of our dozen cupcakes after we left The Twisted Sifter, so that meant we had two cupcakes each for breakfast. Actually, to get a better idea of what we liked, Jennifer and I split our four cupcakes. She cut each cupcake down the middle, but I think her cutting was a little off-center, and my piece of each cupcake was slightly larger than hers. Of course, we didn’t do this until we drew numbers, and one at a time we each selected a cupcake until there were no cupcakes left. We all did our best to imitate immaturity, as we dotted each other’s nose and licked it off. As we did this, we worked in teams. Jennifer and I worked on each others noses, while Lou and Thelma Lou did the same on the second team. They didn’t dot and lick as well as we did.
The girls knew that Lou and I had a case to get back to, so around 11:00, we dispensed with the fun and games and divvied up the turtle cheesecake and pecan pie for later. I took one-half of each to my house for Lou and me to turn to any time we needed any inspiration. I couldn’t help but think back to those days when this was a normal occurrence for us.
Thelma Lou cut hers and Jennifer’s delicacies in half. If Jennifer got hungry on her long drive home, she could nibble, although most of her nibbling would be on those cookies we’d bought at Burke’s that we were too full to finish. Lou and I received our share of those, too. We needed to solve the case soon, because I needed to get back to losing weight.
We had postponed Jennifer’s departure (and ours too) long enough. I walked Jennifer out to her car, with Lou and Thelma Lou ten paces behind. We kissed and hugged and shared sweet nothings, and then the second team moved in to say their goodbyes. The three of us who weren’t leaving town walked out to the street, and stood and waved until Jennifer’s car was merely a spot in the distance. After a couple minutes of thanking Thelma Lou for all of her ideas and making the last few days so much better, Lou kissed her goodbye.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Lou and I headed to Lightning. We needed to get back to the cas
e.
“Say, Lou, did God give you today’s clue, yet?”
“Lincoln Rhyme.”
“I see. There was a young man named Lincoln, who read about a wooden shoe voyager named Blinken.”
“Don’t quit your day job, Cy. Oh, I forgot, you already have, sort of. Anyway, that’s the start of a limerick, and not a very good one.”
“Capitalized Limerick is in Ireland, and the small limerick is a rhyme, which matches today’s clue. I assume God didn’t give you any more information this time, like for instance, what it means?”
Lou gave me the “will you ever learn” look which told me the answer was “no.”
“That’s okay, I’ll check with my friend when we get to our house.”
Lou’s raised eyebrows told me he didn’t have a clue what I was talking about.
“Mr. Google. I don’t know how I was able to solve a case without him.”
“Are your sure it isn’t Miss Google, Cy? And anyway, maybe you were able to solve all these cases because you had a good sergeant with you all along.”
“I don’t know about that, but you are a cut above Schultz.”
+++
I parked Lightning in the back of the driveway, like I usually do, and we went in through the back door, so I could show Lou my latest gifts from George. He laughed, and told me he didn’t receive duplicates. I invited him to come over anytime he wants to play.
I unlocked the door, walked in, took off my jacket, and kicked off my shoes. Lou carried in our sweet treats. I told him to set the cheesecake and pecan pie on the dining room table, next to the bowl of nuts. It hadn’t taken the AARP article to get me to eating healthier (except for the last few days). I’ve bought more fruits, vegetables, and nuts since Dr. Littleton harped on me to lose weight or else. I now keep a bowl of various kinds of nuts on the dining room table, although I make it a point not to dip into it more than once a day and I never eat more than a handful of nuts. As Lou and I arrived at my house and I walked past that dining room table, I couldn’t help but think of the peanuts laying there. I know that walnuts, almonds, and a couple of other nuts are better for me, but none of them are cracked as easily as peanuts. Some peanuts are easy to crack the first time you pick them up. Others resist your first effort and cause you to turn them over where they can be cracked more easily in another place. Maybe our case was like those peanuts. Maybe we needed to turn it over and approach it another way. But how?
The question of how made me think of what I had to do next. It was time to head to the computer to see what Google could tell me about a Lincoln Rhyme.
I clicked and learned a little, but not as much as I wanted to know. I found out that Lincoln Rhyme is a character created by author Jeffery Deaver, and that he is a quadriplegic. I hoped that God wasn’t telling Lou or me that we would become a quadriplegic. I needed to know more about Lincoln Rhyme, and I knew just the person who could tell me more. Myrtle Evans. I picked up the phone book and located Scene of the Crime’s phone number.
“Scene of the Crime, where we help you to start solving your mystery.”
“Mrs. E., this is Cy Dekker. I need some help.”
“I’ll see if I can help.”
“Are you familiar with a character called Lincoln Rhyme, created by Jeffery Deaver?”
“Of course.”
“Well, what all can you tell me about this character?”
“Let me hit the high points, and then if you need to know more, I’ve got a lot of Deaver’s books you can read. Lincoln Rhyme is a criminologist. One of the best crime solvers in New York City. But he has an accident at a crime scene, falls through a floor, and it turns him into a quadriplegic. He becomes depressed, but his mind still works, so the police seek him out to solve crimes they are having trouble solving. Rhyme uses Amelia Sachs to be his legs, and she goes to crime scenes, walks them for him, and tells him what she sees. Then, Rhyme instructs the man who takes care of him, Thom, to write everything on a white board, so that they won’t forget anything. Rhyme has Sachs walk the grid and bring him everything she finds that might lead them to the criminal. Sometimes they run scientific tests on what they find. Is that good enough for you?”
“It is for now. Thanks.”
I hung up and turned to Lou.
“Well, what did you learn, Cy?”
“I learned that I am Lincoln Rhyme. I am to remain here while you do all the work.”
“I don’t think that’s it, Cy. I already do all the work.”
“Very funny.”
“So, what did you find out about this Rhyme character that we might be able to use?”
“Well, he’s a quadriplegic. Neither of us are, so I don’t think that’s it. But he has his assistant walk the crime scene, back and forth, and look for clues. I can’t picture you walking the crime scene. Besides, I don’t think there would be much there to see now, so I don’t think that’s what God is trying to tell us, either. And when Frank and his boys went over the scene, I don’t think they missed anything. Rhyme’s minions run tests on what they find, but we haven’t found anything, so we don’t have any tests to run. The only other thing is that Rhyme has the man who takes care of him write down everything they learn on a white board, so I guess that must be it. Lou, it looks like you have some writing ahead of you, and I already have a white board. Do you remember where I got it?”
“No. Should I?”
“Yeah, remember that night, not long after you and I started to work for the department over thirty years ago, when Bob Pritchard told me to get some people together that he wanted to come over and talk to us about something?”
“Oh, yeah. It was Amway, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah, well remember that Pritchard was so nervous that night he was sweating like a rainstorm?”
“Cy, you might refrain from using the word rainstorm for a while, but yeah, I remember.”
“Well, he was so nervous that he forgot and left his white board here. When I remembered to tell him about it a week later, he told me I could keep it, that he had given up on Amway.”
“I remember he didn’t last long. I think it bothered him that some of the guys were calling him Soapy.”
“Yeah, but you know what? Before he quit he sponsored Ty Richards. Remember him? Ty went on to make a boatload of money in Amway and retired from the department at thirty-two. I heard he was making well up in six figures way back then, and I ran into him a couple of years ago. He’s semi-retired now, but he has a house in the Smoky Mountains and another one on one of those ritzy islands near Sarasota, and he said to feel free to give him a call sometime and come visit. Or if we wanted to vacation at one of his homes while he’s at the other, just give him a call. He was always such a nice guy. I think that had a lot to do with him making so much money. He was always wanting to help others. But enough about him. Let me go locate that white board. I think it’s in the back of my walk-in closet in the bedroom.”
I left Lou sitting there and returned a couple of minutes later with a white board and easel. I dusted off the board and placed it on the easel. I couldn’t believe it when one of the markers still worked. I would’ve thought all of them had dried out and we’d have to go out and buy more.
“Okay, Lou, get up and write. Draw a column for suspects, one for motives, and one for whatever information we have so far.”
Lou got up and took the marker. I read off all our suspects, even the ones we didn’t think of as suspects. A couple of minutes later the easy part was done and I was able to read Lou’s writing. Lou followed up by writing down a motive for any of our suspects who might have had a motive for killing Kincaid, flimsy as it might have been.
“Okay, Lou. Now write down anything that we know for sure.”
Lou wrote down, “Kincaid was murdered.” Well, at least it was a starting place.
“And we know he died from a blow to the head. Frank said he was hit three or four times, but only one of those blows was struck while he was still standing, and the first
blow was probably all it took to kill him. Who knows why the murderer struck him more than once?”
“Maybe he or she wanted to make sure Kincaid was dead.”
“Maybe. What else do we know for sure? We know that his money was taken. Maybe there were checks too, but we don’t know that for sure. We also know, if we are to believe Joan Arrington, and I think we can, that Kincaid drove to the park Saturday morning. But Sunday his truck and trailer were found at the motel. Kincaid couldn’t have driven them back to the motel, but someone did. Why did someone do that? Draw a fourth column for what we have to figure out. We also have to figure out what happened prior to his death, and what happened afterward, which is where the moving of the truck and trailer fit in.”
“Cy, let’s assume the murderer drove Kincaid’s truck and trailer to the motel. Someone stayed in that room Saturday night, but not Sunday night. You would think it was whoever murdered him, but if so, he or she was both brave and stupid. But that’s not the point I’m trying to make. We’re familiar with the motel. It’s an old one that still uses old-fashioned keys. We saw the key, so we know that all the keys have the room number on them, but not the name of the motel. That means that the murderer was either someone local, who knows what motel uses those types of keys, or someone who was staying there, meaning one of the vendors.”
“Good reasoning, Lou. I think that means we can’t eliminate anyone. But let me add one more category. It could also have been someone Kincaid told he was going to be staying there.”
“Like his wife?”
“Like his wife, or one of the other vendors who might have stayed somewhere else. Not all of the vendors stayed at the Resting Place Motel, you know. We have a few others around town, too.”
“Does that mean we can eliminate Johnny Delmont? He said he stayed in his camper, and he and Kincaid weren’t on speaking terms, so Kincaid wouldn’t have told him where he was staying.”
“No, Lou, I think we need to keep Delmont in the mix. We know that he didn’t like Kincaid, and he had ways to find out where Kincaid was staying.”
6 Murder at the Art & Craft Fair Page 20