by Pepper Frost
As Bijou inspected the fluffy fodder, Bea got curious, too. She poked around in the pile with her cane, soon hitting something solid. She used the rubber end of her cane to sweep the dried grass away from it.
“Holy mackerel, what do we have here, doggo? Looks like a clue!” Bea bent down and picked up her buried treasure: a smartphone. “Someone’s been hiding out here.”
Bea didn’t know much about cell phones—more accurately, she knew virtually nothing. But she was smart and curious enough to try swiping the lock on the screen. When she did, she saw a photo that looked like one of the ones she saw on the review bomber’s blog.
“Dog ziggity, Bijou! It’s our troll’s phone!”
Bea was so excited, she did a little dance, spinning around with Bijou in a circle in the pile of straw. Remembering that Angela was calling the cops, though, she decided to conceal her exciting find—at least until she could share it with Pat. It would be the perfect bit of evidence for her cell phone 101 training. It might even be the key to solving Operation Troll Patrol!
“Let’s keep this clue to ourselves, poochie. I can’t wait to show Pat.” She felt a slight flash of guilt—what if Billy Ray’s death wasn’t an accident? And what if the phone’s owner had caused it? She shook it off. It seemed obvious that Billy Ray’s drunkenness was what did him in. And if it wasn’t, she could always put the phone back in the straw pile where it could be discovered later. She tucked the phone inside her bra and led Bijou back out of the barn.
Chapter 17
Angela jogged back towards the barn. She shrugged slightly as she caught a glimpse of Bea’s reaction to Foxy, who was running a few yards behind. He arrived just as a local police cruiser crunched onto the gravel driveway.
Surprise, surprise, Foxy inserted himself into the action, thought Bea, eying him.
“Foxy was the first person I saw—he called the police for us,” Angela explained. “I asked him to tell the others Billy Ray had an accident. He asked them to stay back until the police could sort things out, didn’t you, Foxy?”
“I wanted to help. The twins are spreading the word and keeping everyone calm,” said Foxy. “Poor Billy Ray. All that drinking was bound to catch up with him. Look away, Angela. It’s very upsetting,” he added protectively.
Foxy tried to slide his arm slyly around Angela’s shoulders, but she moved outside his reach. Bea grinned at her approvingly. Angela didn’t seem to notice, however. She was waving the cop over to the rear of the barn.
“Right here, officer,” she called. The coroner’s van pulled in behind the cruiser. The cop, a burly man with curly brown hair and a thick moustache who looked to be in his early forties, grabbed a large camera and a big roll of yellow tape from the cruiser and ambled over to the scene.
“It seems rather open and shut, Officer… McGregor,” said Foxy officiously, peering at the policeman’s nametag. “We all witnessed Mr. Bandy in a state of extreme inebriation last night.” Bea watched, fascinated.
“I see. And your name is?” the officer asked. Foxy replied. The officer asked him to step back.
“You must be Miss Garcia,” the officer continued, turning to Angela. “Mr. Foxworth mentioned you’re in charge here?”
“Yes, I’m the manager here. This is my business partner and the owner of the Inn, Bea Sickles. And like Foxy—er, Mr. Foxworth—said, Billy Ray was extremely drunk. We tried to convince him to go to bed, but he refused, and insisted on going for a walk. It’s so quiet here at night, we didn’t think anything could happen to him. And it was late, so the rest of us were getting ready turn in ourselves.”
Officer McGregor dropped the roll of bright yellow tape on the ground, then began taking pictures and examining the scene. He hung the camera strap over his shoulder and snapped on a pair of gloves.
“No detective, huh?” asked Bea.
“The whole police ‘force’ in this little town’s just a few of us. We multi-task.” Officer McGregor squatted down with a grunt next to Billy Ray’s body as he spoke. “No signs of a struggle. We’ll still have to open a murder investigation, though. We’ll need to inform everyone they’re not to leave the premises and to be prepared to be interrogated.”
“Wait, what?” cried Angela. “But it’s so obvious this was an accident!”
McGregor lifted the camera to his face, then shot several pictures of Billy Ray. He looked closely at the ladder’s position: it seemed to have dropped directly from the side of the barn, with no added force. He pulled a tape measure from his pocket and took numerous measurements from the ladder to the barn and Billy Ray’s body, and took pictures of the ladder from several angles, too. “Sure looks accidental. But for now, anyway, we still have to consider it a suspicious death.”
The coroner, a tall, thin, dark-haired man, walked towards the scene, donning his white coat and gloves. Together, McGregor and the coroner examined and documented the scene. The coroner rolled the body over to be sure no signs of foul play were missed. Bea’s eyes widened as Billy Ray was moved onto his back, and his jacket fell open. She thought Angela might also have noticed something missing, but her friend’s attention was fixed on Officer McGregor’s words.
“Any sudden death of a relatively young person is considered suspicious. That goes double for unusual accidents under cover of darkness. And triple for situations where two sudden deaths seem to be connected. Miss Garcia, do I need to remind you about poor Mr. Eddie Kawai?”
Angela opened her mouth to protest, but saw Connie running towards her from the Inn, with Pat trailing behind.
“Angela! What’s going on?” But from the expression on Connie’s face, it was clear she already had an idea what was happening.
“Oh Connie, don’t come too close,” said Angela, walking towards her. “You shouldn’t see this.”
It was too late, though. Peering around Angela’s shoulders, she saw her husband’s body lying still on the ground.
Connie gasped and let out a soft sob, but pulled herself together. “It was bound to happen. Billy Ray was so reckless.” A tear dropped down her cheek as she spoke.
“So Mrs. Bandy—am I right that this man was your husband, Billy Ray Bandy?”
Connie nodded.
“And when you last saw him, he was inebriated?”
Connie nodded again, her tears flowing steadily now.
“This appears to be an accidental death. But our protocol calls for a murder investigation. By the way, Miss Garcia, I assume your liquor license is in order?”
Angela blanched and attempted to stutter out an answer. “We’re not technically open yet, and I thought since we weren’t selling alcohol—”
“Officer McGregor,” interrupted Foxy. “May I have a brief word with you, privately?” He wrapped his long arm around the policeman’s shoulder. McGregor looked askance at Foxy’s inappropriately placed hand. Bea wondered if he was going to smack it off. But the cop allowed himself to be steered away from the scene.
“What the heck is that about,” said Bea, as the four women watched Foxy communicating animatedly with the cop.
“I know. I wish we could hear what they’re saying,” said Pat.
They watched as Foxy pulled his wallet out of his pocket. With his back to them, he retrieved something from it and handed it to McGregor, but none of them could see what it was. The two men then shook hands warmly. Both were smiling as they walked back towards the barn.
“Foxy here has convinced me we don’t need to interrupt your celebration with a murder investigation. We’ll let the coroner finish up, and he’ll take the body back with him to the morgue to complete his autopsy. Miss Garcia, there is one condition. I still need you to let everyone know they shouldn’t leave the premises for before noon tomorrow.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem, officer,” Angela said. “Our event runs until then, and I’m sure everyone plans to be here.”
“Just make sure of it.” He reached into his pocket and offered her and Bea business cards. “Please don’t h
esitate to call me if anything arises.” He nodded knowingly at Foxy.
“I think I’ll head back to my suite now, Angela,” Connie said. “Bijou can come with me.” Bea passed the leash over to Connie.
“Let me walk you back,” said Foxy to Connie, offering his elbow to escort her. Huh, Bea thought. He seemed concerned and not on the make—a different Foxy altogether.
“That was weird, to say the least,” said Angela as the police cruiser drove away, the coroner’s van following behind, carrying Billy Ray’s corpse. “It’s good that Foxy helped shortcut the investigation, I guess,” Angela said. “I mean, I’m sure Mrs. Glastonbury will be none-too-pleased about any of this, not that that’s anything new.”
“That Foxy is as smooth as glass and I haven’t got a clue what he’s up to.” said Bea.
“I’m worried about Connie,” Angela said. “Maybe I should go check on her. She may need someone to talk to, and Foxy may not be the right person for the job.”
“I’m sure you’re right about that,” cackled Bea. “I wouldn’t trust him with my worst enemy.”
“To tell you the truth, I don’t think I trust him, either,” ventured Angela. “I found out something about him that makes me nervous. He’s carrying a gun.”
“Some of the best people do, Angie,” said Bea. She was thinking of Perry. He’d helped her get a gun for herself weeks before, when that pathetic wannabe-thief Cash tried to turn her into his personal meal ticket. At the time, that gun had made Bea feel safe—and helped her get Cash arrested.
“Of course, the gun might mean something more when combined with some of his behavior—like his mysterious ability to snake-charm cops. And his notable nosiness.”
“Bea, I’m not joining your cynical party,” Angela said. “But you might be right about Foxy. I’m going to check on Connie. I’ve still got some details to handle for our last event tonight, too.”
“We’re in the homestretch,” said Bea.
“I’ll be relieved when it’s over. I’m done trying to impress Lee Glastonbury.”
“Glad you’re coming to your senses, girlie.”
“You coming with me?” said Angela, as she turned to head back to the Inn.
“I’ll be back in a minute. If Pat’s game, I thought I’d show her a little more of our grounds.”
“Sounds good to me,” said Pat.
Chapter 18
As soon as Angela was out of earshot, Bea told Pat about her big find in the barn. She dug into her bra to retrieve it, then swiped the padlock symbol—revealing the last photo taken, still showing on the home screen. It was the same one she and Pat had already seen on the latest entry of the troll’s blog.
“So here’s what I think happened: our troll was hiding out up in the loft, taking pictures with this phone. That would explain how the troll got the pix—by shooting down through the transom windows, from up high in the loft.”
Pat’s eyes opened wide as she took in a snapshot the phone had captured of the tournament.
“Mind if I take a closer look?”
“Not all. Just show me what you’re looking for. Don’t forget it should be part of my detective training.”
“Well, first of all, we’re lucky there’s no password on this phone. Check it out, we can get at all the pictures,” Pat tilted the phone horizontally and showed Bea several recent pictures they both recognized from the review bomber’s blog.
“Check these out. We haven’t seen them before.” Pat scrolled back through two days’ photos and found images of the players arriving—including several showing Frank and James together and Walter and Harry together.
“Is it just me, or does it seem like the players who’ve been part of this a while—Frank and James, Walter and Harry—don’t seem to mix with the more recent crew?”
“I noticed that at breakfast,” said Pat. “Could be the ones who’ve been playing longer have gotten to more comfortable with each other. Of course, could also mean they’re up to something.”
“It’s poker. Nobody has to be friends. But these people make a point of playing together for three straight days, every year. Odd they’ve formed little cliques in their small group.”
Pat flipped through more photos on the phone. “Well looky here.” One of the photos appeared to show two players arguing. They’d stepped away from the nearest light, making it hard to be sure who they were.
“Stupid LED sconces,” said Bea. “I knew we should have gone for the old-fashioned energy-hog lights. What do you think? Looks like Walter and James to me.”
“They seem mad at each other, whoever they are.” One of the men was poking his finger in the face of the other, who had one clenched fist above his head.
“And wait—is that something, or someone, in the bush near them?” The two women tried enlarging the screen, squinting, holding the phone at arm’s length—nothing got them any closer to identifying the men in the mystery photo.
“It’s no use fighting with this little screen. We need a computer monitor so we can get a closer look,” Pat said. “I bet we’ll be able to tell who’s who once we enlarge the pictures.”
“Can you forward that picture to your computer?”
“That’s a good idea,” Pat said, tapping a few times on the screen to text the photo to her own phone. “Maybe I can download them all onto my computer, though. I’ve got a cable we can use to attach the phone to my laptop back in my room. But before we head back to try, mind if I explore where our sneaky shutterbug parked himself?”
Pat hoisted the ladder back up against the barn. Bea held the bottom of the ladder steady as Pat made her way slowly up into the loft. Then Bea used her cane to yank the barn door open and went inside to see what Pat found.
“Seems like he was here a while,” Pat said, holding up a few fast-food bags and several bottles filled with brownish-yellow liquid.
“Looks like our stalker was dehydrated,” cackled Bea. “I suppose we should thank him for not peeing on the ground in here.”
“I’m glad I can call him a guy now without you calling me a sexist. Not a lot of ladies pee into iced tea bottles. It’s an endless challenge for us lady PIs when we’re on stakeouts.”
“You’re right. And I believe that means I’ve helped provide an important clue,” said Bea with pride.
“I guess he shot the pictures using his phone through the opening at this end. He could lie down here and aim down at the lobby doors and the ballroom windows.” Pat found the hand-fashioned rope near the edge of the loft. “I guess he needed another way out when Billy Ray took the ladder down with him?”
“Yeah, here’s what I think happened,” said Bea. “I think Billy Ray stumbled onto our junior paparazzo. He’d been getting madder and madder about those pictures. He might have wanted to confront the guy, but we he was way too drunk for climbing ladders. When Billy Ray fell, our troll must have panicked. He couldn’t call the cops without calling attention to himself, trespassing and all. So he figured out how to braid a rope and used it to climb down. Then he rushes out, not realizing he dropped his phone.”
“Could this be a crime scene? What if Billy Ray was pushed? Shouldn’t Officer McGregor have at least taken a look? Am I right that McGregor didn’t even look inside the barn?”
“I think it’s possible Officer McGregor is not that great at his job,” cackled Bea. “On the other hand, he and the coroner seemed convinced it was an accident. They took a lot of photos and measurements. Didn’t seem interested in other evidence.”
“They didn’t go in the barn at all?”
“Yeah. Foxy’s supernatural powers of persuasion seemed to take over. McGregor didn’t even take fingerprints.”
“Maybe not so supernatural. What if the two of them—Foxy and McGregor—are on the same side?”
“Oooh, conspiracy? I like the way you think, woman. Our case keeps getting juicier!”
“I’ve been wondering if we should hand over the phone. It could be evidence.”
“Her
e’s my thought,” said Bea. “Since McGregor didn’t even look in the barn, we can always put the phone back where I found it if the coroner decides there might have been foul play. We all saw how hammered Billy Ray was. McGregor seems to have concluded it was an accident. But even if it turns out it wasn’t, why shouldn’t we keep the phone to work on Betty’s review troll mystery—and my detective training. Right? They didn’t even look in the place we found it.”
“My conscience is clean if yours is. I’ll use the ladder to come down, so I don’t touch that rope, in the off chance it’ll turn out to be evidence, too. Spot me again?”
Bea went back out to hold the ladder while Pat climbed down. Then the two of them heaved the barn door shut, taking care not to touch the handle. As they started to walk away, Pat suggested they take a few minutes to examine for themselves the area where Billy Ray fell. She lifted the ladder off the side of the barn, projecting where it would fall if Billy Ray had leaned back and lost his balance.
“It would depend how high up he’d gotten. But it looks like if he climbed a few rungs, the ladder would have landed right about here when he fell back—more or less where it was found, right?” Pat said, leaning back and letting the ladder fall. “Then he would have fallen right down on the boulder.”
“Yep,” agreed Bea. “And he fell with his head right, shoulders on the rock. That doesn’t suggest he was pushed, either.”
“No signs of struggle when McGregor flipped him over, right?”
“Correct. And that reminds me—when they rolled Billy Ray over, I noticed something: that classy mistletoe belt buckle of his was gone!”
“Now that’s weird. Can’t be evidence of a crime, though.”
“My thoughts exactly,” snorted Bea. “Who would want it?”
Chapter 19
That was so close, thought Cash. Too close! He was lying on top of the covers of his grubby twin bed after a fitful few hours of sleep, still fully clothed in what he’d worn the night before. He’d even left his dirty sneakers on.