by Alex Colwell
“Nobody has been by to speak with you?”
“I gave my statement to a deputy two hours ago. That’s why I don’t understand why I’m still here.”
“I would imagine the police will have follow up questions for you.” Maribel winked. “I hear they have a suspect.”
“Oh? Thank goodness. Who is it?”
“A fellow by the name of Bundy, I hear.”
“I knew it! When I heard that Willy had been cut, I just knew it. Tex is the knife man for the show, you know.”
“Yes, so I hear. I also hear that you’re rather good with a rope?”
“I do some lasso tricks, but I’m most known for the whip. I do this thing where I flip my whip and split celery in half, or bananas, or whatever. People love that. My daddy was a rancher and a showman. He raised me like the son he never had and I took to the whip right away. It’s always been my thing.”
“I see. And where’s your whip now?”
“There are four, and the police have them. Took everything. My cell phone too. I can’t even make a call. This is crazy.”
Maribel ignored her angst. “I understand you’re also involved in the business affairs of the show?”
“Yeah, I do a lot of the bookings and logistics. Willard was useless at organizing. I don’t touch the money, though. That’s all Clint Dandridge.”
“You and your husband trust him with your finances?”
“Oh yes. He’s a millionaire, you know, so he must know a thing or two about it. And very shrewd to boot. Some theater owners think they can take advantage of me because I’m a woman, but put Clint on the phone and five minutes later they’re giving us the stage practically for free. Some people just have a knack for that, I guess.”
“Yes, indeed. So you and Clint work together?”
“It’s a small troupe, we all work together. Tour every summer. It used to be more for fun than anything, but the last couple of years Willy and I have really needed the money. The scrapping business has its highs and lows like everything else, and we’ve been on a long low. I dare say that if not for Clint’s business savvy and generosity, we would have gone under.”
“I thank you for your time, Mrs. Wilkinson, but I’ll get out of your hair now. I’m sure the sheriff will be in to see you any minute.”
“Please, call me Pinky.”
“Hmmm…yes…Pinky.”
“And your name again was?”
“Claus. Maribel Claus.”
“Claus? As in –“
“Yes, he’s my husband. Good evening, Mrs…Pinky…and please, keep the tissue.”
Maribel found herself in the hall again and saw that there were four rooms remaining that she had not yet passed. One was embossed with a fading old sign reading ‘Manager’ that Maribel guessed had been there since the 1920s. She knew that behind that door Sheriff Fell would be lurching around the room, trying to intimidate Tex Bundy into a confession. She also knew that he wouldn’t stay in there forever, so if she hoped to get the answers she sought, she’d have to find them quickly.
She guessed they wouldn’t put Pinky and Dandridge in neighboring rooms so she went to the last door on the left, just across from the manager’s office. She knocked lightly and opened the door.
“It’s about time,” said the man sitting not at the desk, but on top of it. “I was beginning to think I’d been forgotten about.”
“There’s little danger of that. Clint Dandridge, I take it?”
“Yes, that’s me. But I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure?”
“It’s good to meet you, my name is Maribel Claus.”
“Claus? As in – “
“Yes, my husband,” she said dismissively, as she was wont to do when her objective was not getting sidetracked. “I’m sorry to barge in on you like this, but if you’d be so kind as to humor me with answers to a few questions. It’s so rare I get to meet a master marksman.”
The chiseled middle-aged man with perfectly coifed salt and pepper hair tossed his head back in a laugh. “Marksman? You flatter me, Mrs. Claus. Pistols are my thing. The older, the better. To hold a gun and to think that a hundred or more years ago a man – an outlaw – had perhaps fired it and taken another life. I know it’s all in my head. A gun is just a piece of metal. But the history that comes with an old gun -”
“It gives you a sense of connection to the person who held it before. Yes, I understand.”
“So you’re a gun lover, are you?”
“No, oh no. I’ve never held one in my life. But oh how I love my antique trinkets. I’ll pull one from its cozy and try to imagine all the rooms it adorned in its previous homes; all the life it’s seen. It’s a bit silly, I suppose, and it’s not a habit I’m inclined to share with others, but I sense that you feel the same way about your guns.”
Mr. Dandridge smiled warmly at Maribel and allowed his shoulders to loosen and drop. “It’s a passion most can’t understand. Willard – Wild Willy, that is – understood it. Best shot I’d ever seen. When he asked me to join the show, it was a dream come true.”
“You must be quite a shot yourself.”
“Me? Well, I don’t know. So I’m told. I resigned myself long ago to being number two. There’s only one Wild Willy.”
“Was, you mean. Now that he’s gone, I suppose that makes you the ‘top banana’, as the young folks say.”
“I’m not sure young people still say that, but yes, I guess you’re right. I hadn’t thought about that.”
“I spoke with Mrs. Wilkinson a moment ago and she intimated that if not for your financial support and – how did she put it? – business savvy, Wild Willy’s Western World would have folded some years back. You don’t strike me as a man who’s made a habit of investing himself in a venture that wouldn’t benefit him financially. Yet I don’t see how a summer road show would be considered a wise investment.”
Dandridge laughed, his head going back again, suggesting it was a well-rehearsed mannerism. “Financially, it’s break-even at best. But some things are more important than money, as I’m sure you can appreciate. It’s always been my dream to be a cowboy. I guess you could say I’m living out my childhood.”
“What exactly is it you do, Mr. Dandridge?”
“Well, I have my hand in a number of concerns, but primarily you could say I’m in the medical equipment business.”
“Sales?”
“Manufacturing, actually. Sales is the back end. We produce equipment for hospitals, universities, labs. MRI, CATS, machines like that. The only real costs are the magnets and lasers, the rest is all plastic and wiring. The mark up for sales is huge, which is how I can afford to take summers off to live a childhood dream. I suppose you know a thing or two about childhood dreams, seeing as how you’re married to -”
“But now that Mr. Wilkinson is dead, doesn’t that dream come to an end? By the way, please forgive my rudeness. I haven’t yet offered my condolences. I’m sure you and Mr. Wilkinson were very close.”
Dandridge looked down and nodded, removing his eyes from Maribel for the first time. “Very close. Almost like brothers, you could say. And that’s why I don’t think I could bring myself to let his dream – his vision – die. We’ll keep the show alive one way or the other.”
“That’s very selfless of you, Mr. Dandridge. We should all be so fortunate to have friends like you in our lives.”
“Please, Mrs. Claus, you embarrass me. ‘Do unto others’, as they say.”
“What comes around goes around, you mean?”
“Precisely.”
Maribel reached for the door knob. “Well, I’ve no doubt that karma will catch up to you, Mr. Dandridge. She might sometimes be late, but take it from an old lady, she has a long memory.”
The door flew open in Maribel’s hand, startling her back into the room. Sheriff Fell filled the door.
“Mrs. Claus, what are you doing in here?” barked the sheriff.“I don’t recall deputizing you or giving you permission to interrogate my wi
tnesses. Harrumph! I appreciate that we are standing in a theater, but I assure you that we are not all gathered here for your amusement.”
“Sheriff Fell, I can quite assure you that I was not interrogating your witness. Mr. Dandridge will tell you that our brief conversation had absolutely nothing to do with the crime or your investigation.”
“It’s true, Sheriff,” said Dandridge. “We were just passing the time. And considering how long I’ve been abandoned in this sweatbox, I was grateful for the distraction. So grateful, in fact, that I never got around to asking Mrs. Claus for the purpose of her visit.”
“No purpose, just passing the time, as you say. I’m sure the sheriff will inform you once I’ve gone, but I have the reputation of being a bit of a busybody. Not altogether undeserved, I’m sure.”
Deputy Bentley appeared in the doorway behind the sheriff.
Maribel stepped towards Bentley. “I’ll get out of your way now, Sheriff. But if I might impose upon you one more time, I’d very much appreciate if Deputy Bentley could give me a ride home. I’m sure Angela won’t wish to leave just yet.”
Deputy Bentley escorted Maribel down the hall and into the theater lobby.
“You sure get under the Sheriff’s skin, Mrs. Claus. I don’t know why you irk him so, but I’ve got to admit it’s kind of fun to watch.”
“You mean that vein on his forehead that pops out or how it seems he can hold his breath and talk at the same time?” Her cheeks burned red and were she not at a murder scene she would have allowed the hearty laugh bouncing around inside her to escape. “Our relationship is a little complicated, but it’s not without respect. Say, would one of those young men be the deputy who took charge of the cell phones?”
“Yes, the one on the left. Pace.”
“Would you mind if I talk with him for just a moment?”
“Mrs. Claus, the Sheriff was pretty clear that –“
“The briefest of moments, I promise.”
Following an introduction and the necessary pleasantries, Maribel confirmed that Deputy Pace searched the text and call histories of the phones belonging to Bundy, Pinky, Dandridge, and the other members of their entourage. He assured her that he found nothing at all suspicious.
“I’ll let you get back to your work, deputy, but if you’ll indulge me just one more question. What was the substance of the communication between Mr. Dandridge and Mrs. Wilkinson?
Deputy Pace thought for a moment. “Now that you mention it, there was no history between those two. At least not for the last three weeks.”
“None at all?”
“There were a few group texts. When Mr. Dandridge sent out a text to the whole troupe, she’d be on the list, but nothing at all between the two of them any time recently.”
“And no calls?”
“Not a one. I guess those two aren’t very close.”
“Thank you for your time, Deputy Pace. I’ll let Deputy Bentley take me out of your hair now. Oh! Speaking of hair…”
The two constables shared an ‘I don’t know’ glance as Maribel dug through her tidy but styleless tufts of gray curls. She eventually emerged with a small metal hairpin. This she handed to Deputy Pace.
“If you would be so good as to take this to the murder room and hold it up against the lock on the outside of the door. No rush, whenever you have a moment, just please report the results to Deputy Bentley so that he can pass the news on to me.”
“Results? Um…yes, ma’am.”
Maribel nodded, quite pleased, and headed for the big doors.
Bentley held onto Maribel’s arm as he escorted her down the stone steps outside. When they reached the pavement at the bottom, Maribel motioned for Bentley to stop.
“Would you mind if I wait here while you get the car? My husband will be getting home any time and finding me gone will be surprise enough, but then to see a patrol car pull up in front of the house – “
“You go right ahead, Mrs. Claus. Take your time.”
Maribel retrieved the phone from her bag. “You’re an angel. I believe I’ll stretch my legs with a quick walk around the building while I talk. I’ll be no time at all.”
Two minutes later, Maribel emerged from behind the theater to find Deputy Bentley waiting by the warming car. He opened the door for her and she climbed atop the comforting leather of the passenger seat.
“All ready to go?” asked Bentley.
“Indeed I am. My little ferrets must be going crazy wondering where their mama’s gone to. I have two, you know, a boy and a girl. Oh, I almost forgot! Would you happen to have pen and a piece of paper handy? I’d like to leave a note for the sheriff.”
Christmas Village is quite small and within minutes Bentley’s patrol car pulled up in front of the flower-lined stone walkway that meandered through a small garden before terminating at the front door of the Claus cottage.
Maribel stepped from the car and turned to poke her head back in to face Deputy Bentley. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your hospitality this evening, young man. Oh, and I almost forgot, here are your pen and paper back. And if you would be so kind as to give this note to the sheriff. Do you like peach pie?”
Bentley accepts his items and the note. “Pie, cobbler, I’ll take peaches any way they come.”
“Splendid. Then how about you and the sheriff come by the cottage while you’re out to lunch tomorrow. Say around noon? I’ll set some pie out and tell you all about who killed Willard Wilkinson, how, and why. That is, if the sheriff hasn’t put it all together himself by then, which means that in all likelihood I’ll be seeing you both at noon. Good evening!”
Maribel closed the door and started up the walk. She had made it into the house, kissed her husband hello, and shared a little dance with her ferrets, Dancer and Prancer, before Deputy Bentley realized his mouth was still hanging wide open. Gathering his composure, he took a look at the note.
Dear Sheriff Fell,
If you would be so kind as to read this note and act upon its request then I do believe the solution to the puzzle will be at hand. I apologize for the scavenger hunt, but time is of the essence and if not acted upon tonight, crucial evidence could be lost to us. Should any points in the course of events require clarity, I’ll be happy to offer my thoughts tomorrow when you and the nice Deputy Bentley stop by for pie.
1. Please investigate the windows on the second and third floor that overlook the dumpsters out back. I wouldn’t imagine these are opened two frequently. Be sure to search for specks of cherry red nail polish before dusting for prints.
2. Inspect Mrs. Wilkinson’s whips. I believe she mentioned there are four. The one with a hard, clear substance on the end is your murder weapon.
3. Although it’s an unseemly task, you’ll need to search the dumpsters out back. Inside you should find a sack or a bag containing a strong magnet, two cell phones, and – please watch your fingers! – a razor blade.
4. In the room where the crime occurred, if you inspect the wall just inside the door and to your left, I believe you’ll find a small slit in the wood. I should think it would be at head level or just above for a man of your most considerable height.
Maribel’s guests arrived a full ten minutes before schedule. Sheriff Fell didn’t look at all well and was uncharacteristically silent. She sat them at the table where the remainder of yesterday’s peach pie sat center, surrounded by plates, forks, and full glasses of fresh milk.
“It seems the mister helped himself to the pie last evening, but was good enough to leave us with these two beautiful slices that I hope will prove ample. Deputy Bentley, if you’d be so good as to hand me your plate?”
Bentley offered his plate with enthusiasm. “Don’t mind if I do, Mrs. Claus. I didn’t have much of a lunch as the sheriff wanted to get right over here.”
Maribel handed Bentley his plate of pie. “It’s your turn, Sheriff.”
“I’m not hungry, Maribel. And I won’t be hungry until you tell me what in blazes is going on h
ere.”
“Did you not find the items I suggested?”
“Yes, we did. Every…single…one,” he said, pounding the table with one meaty finger. “And I know you’re a clever woman, Maribel. I’ve seen it myself. But this…Harrumph! This is downright supernatural.”
Maribel laughed. “Oh, Sheriff, I assure you it’s nothing of the sort. I was just as mystified as you until I had the chance to speak with the young lady and the dapper Mr. Dandridge. They told me everything.”
“Blast it all, we had those rooms bugged! I listened to every word of your conversations and it was all ‘How’s the weather?’ and ‘What do you do for a living?’chit chat. I’m not a stupid man, Maribel, but right now I feel as dumb as a stump. I’d like it very much if you could tell me what you know.”
“I have every intention of doing so, Sheriff. Why do you think I invited you both here? Now just take a sip of that milk, relax, and I’ll start at the beginning.”
Maribel ogled the glass of milk and then fixed her gaze on the sheriff. He realized her suggestion had in fact been a condition and begrudgingly took a drink.
She settled into her chair. “This was a challenging little puzzle, was it not? But when I satisfied myself that Mr. Bundy could not have been the culprit, it was no leap to conclude that he must have been framed. The trick was in figuring out who did the framing – the wife or the business partner? It wasn’t until after I spoke with Deputy Pace and learned that Mrs. Wilkinson and Mr. Dandridge had not been in contact with each other that I knew for certain it must have been the both of them.”
“Do you have anything stronger than milk?” said the sheriff.
“Pardon?”
Bentley wiped off the milk moustache with a cotton napkin. “I think we should just take it one item at a time. What was it Pace told you about the cell phones that let you know those two were working together?”
“There had been no-how do you say?-electronic communication of any kind between the two for weeks. I found that odd considering their duties and interests in the road show often coincided. Mrs. Wilkinson herself said as much, and Mr. Moore said he’d dealt alternately with the both of them in booking them into the Crestview. That told me they had an alternate method of contact and I decided that a second and secret pair of cell phones was most likely. I’m sure they thought themselves clever, planning and scheming all they liked and leaving no visible trace. But how often does the criminal fail to consider that the absence of evidence can in and of itself be evidence? No doubt they got so accustomed to using the one phone for scheming that they forgot to switch back to their personal phones for all the mundane matters of life and business. A small oversight, but a crucial one.”