He wolfed down the last of a hot dog and wiped mustard from his mouth with the back of his hand. “That would be Bill and his family. There’s Bill, Bobbie, and Bill Junior. But you don’t want the wife. She’s got a mouth on her that would put a swearin’ man to shame.”
“I only want to know how to get in touch with whoever runs the space. Do you know their last name or how I can reach them?”
He shook his head. “No. I only talk to them when they’re here, and trust me, you don’t want to get in touch with the wife. She got into a fight-”
I cut him off. I didn’t want to hear his gossip. “Thanks for your time. I’ll check in the office.”
I looked over at Glenn and saw him take his cell phone out to snap a picture of something in one of the cases.
The man called after me as I walked away. “You can go to the office, but Clarence won’t be in until tomorrow. He already collected the rent money today, and he’s gone.”
Glenn and I walked out of the building and over to the office anyway.
It was closed.
I took my notebook out of my bag and made a note to call Clarence tomorrow when I had a break at jury duty. I jotted the telephone number down from the sign on the door.
Glenn was fidgeting with his camera.
“What did you take a picture of?”
He pulled up the photo and handed his phone to me. “It might be nothing, but it sure looks like evidence from a crime scene.”
“It’s the candlestick from Richard Munson’s office. How did it get here?”
He took his phone from my hand and studied the photo. “It’s not really evidence. That would still be under lock and key. My guess is this is the one matching the murder weapon. It was lifted from the mansion either before or after the murder.”
I couldn’t hold back my excitement. “Glenn, that’s the first indication so far that his murder might be in conjunction with a robbery – maybe even all the robberies in town. He must have walked in on the thieves, and if that’s the case, the people running this space might be killers.”
“Whoa there, Sherlock,” he said, laughing. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We have no proof these people are the ones committing the home break-ins or the people who killed Munson. The real thieves could be using them to fence their goods. If you killed someone, would you sit with evidence in front of you?”
“No. You’re right. When I talk with them, I’ll try to find out where they got my answering machine. They probably had my red phone, too, but since the answering machine definitely came from them, I’ll ask about it first. If I can work the candlestick into the conversation, I will.
“Now you’re thinking,” he said. “Let’s get some fruit.”
“I want some blueberries for sure. I can snack on them on the way home.”
“Speaking of blueberries,” he said. “What happened to the blueberry pie I tossed in the trash?”
He was smiling, and there was a twinkle in his eyes. I knew he was no longer mad about the lasagna and pie fiasco.
I shook my head in disbelief. “Why in the world would you have thrown away a perfectly good pie?”
“Ants.”
“What do you mean - ants?”
“I must have missed wiping up some spilled juice on the counter, and I came home to ants on the counter and on the pie. I sprayed everything with ant spray, got the box out of the trash, put the pie back in, and threw it all away.” His smile broadened. “So, where’d the pie go?”
There was no way I was going to let him know I had eaten any of it.
“I threw it away at Pepper’s house,” I said. I was determined to have the last word on this subject. “After I helped her eat your lasagna.”
The smile on his face gave away that he already knew I had eaten his lasagna and some of the pie.
Pepper had a big mouth.
Chapter Ten
Loaded down with blueberries, strawberries, rhubarb, and one large head of cabbage, Glenn and I climbed into the truck and headed for home. Our conversation was enjoyable, and it was evident he was happy.
“Let’s swing by my place and grab some things,” he said. “Since we have the truck, we can get most of my clothes and personal things, and we can load up a few pieces of furniture.”
“Furniture? I don’t have room for your furniture.”
“You have loads of room. I’m not talking about getting my bed or anything too big today. We can decide later which things we’ll keep and which we’ll get rid of. Your bed is more comfortable than mine, but my sofa is more comfortable than yours. We’ll grab the television and stand in the bedroom today and put them in your bedroom.”
“You want a television in the bedroom?” My voice came out a tad on the shrill side. I had never had a television in my bedroom. I considered the bedroom a place for sleeping, snuggling, or romantic activities. He had never once turned the television on in his bedroom when I stayed over.
“I like to catch the news when I first wake up. Don’t you like the idea of climbing into bed and watching some television in the evening when I’m out working?”
I didn’t want to start our plan to live together by fussing about his furniture, and I didn’t want to argue with him.
I smiled. “I don’t know. I guess I’ll find out.”
“We can grab my recliner, too,” he said. “I know you have room for that.”
I wanted to object and say his furniture would smell like his grandfather’s pipe tobacco, but I held my tongue. A few pangs of regret for agreeing to the cohabitation swept over me. Moving in together sounded great, but I didn’t take into consideration that some of his furniture would end up in my house, or that someday some of my furniture would be in his.
“I do have room for a chair,” I said, trying to sound cheerful.
When we were back in Buxley, he didn’t go directly to his house. Instead, he drove to Dave Jackson’s part of town and turned down his street. He parked in front of his house.
“What are we doing here?” I asked.
He was serious when he turned to me and said, “Before you set up a stakeout, I think we should take a look around. If we can get in the house, we should see if the money is still there.”
“Won’t we be breaking and entering?”
“Not necessarily. I’m still technically an officer of the law. Under normal conditions, I’d be allowed in at any time. Let’s just see how secure the place is.”
He tried the front door and the two windows on the porch. All locked. We walked around to the back of the house and found the screen door unlocked, but the inside door wasn’t. The windows back here were locked as well.
“Go check the windows on the side of the house,” I said. “I’ll wait here.”
As soon as he walked away from me, I grabbed my wallet from my bag and took out a credit card. I had the door open in a matter of seconds. By the time Glenn came back around, my card was back in my wallet and in my bag.
“You must not have turned the handle hard enough,” I said.
He grinned. “Yeah, right.”
He led the way into the kitchen.
“Wow,” he said and let out a low whistle. “This place has been trashed. Was it like this the day you found Dave?”
Cupboards were open and pots and pans were strewn about. Drawers and their contents had been dumped on the floor. Both the refrigerator and freezer doors were open. If the contents of the freezer hadn’t been tossed out, the smell might not have been so bad.
“This is disgusting,” I said. “The place was spotless when I was here.”
Both large bins had automatically closed on spring hinges, but there were lottery tickets all over the floor. I knew the money would be gone. I opened the second bin.
“This is where I found the first bag of money.”
He watched as I felt around in the bin. It held nothing but the scratched lottery tickets.
Every room in the house had been searched, but I noticed it hadn’t bee
n a top-to-bottom search. All of the paintings and wall decorations remained on the walls in every room.
When we entered the bedroom with the framed photo, I removed it from the wall. The satchel was still in the hole.
Glenn reached up over the dresser and grabbed the canvas bag.
Even though I told him the bag would likely hold a hundred thousand dollars, he still seemed surprised to see so much money.
I couldn’t resist giving him a smile. “Want to go shopping?” I asked.
“Jo, I have to call this in. We can’t leave this much money in the house. Why don’t you wait in the truck? I can probably explain why I’m here, but you can’t.”
“No. The door was open. We didn’t do anything wrong. We’re helping. Call Winnie. Maybe he’ll come by himself, and Sergeant Rorski won’t even know about it for a while.”
We took the satchel to the kitchen, and Glenn called the station. I thumbed through the money. Each stack was uniform, so it didn’t appear Dave or anyone else had removed any bills from the bands.
“I don’t know who’s coming,” he said, “but they’ll be here soon. I’m going to take a look in the garage.”
“I’m coming, too. I didn’t get a chance to look the other day, and I want to see if Dave kept any inventory in there. I’m surprised no one closed the garage door after the murder.”
We soon saw why no one closed the garage door. There wasn’t one on the worn, broken down building. It was doubtful Dave would have kept any inventory of value in here.
For as clean and tidy as the house had originally been, the garage and its dirt floor was disgusting. Stacks of old newspapers, boxes filled with junk, and used cans of paint accompanied more junk, more dirt, and some seriously big cobwebs. The garage didn’t seem to be used for anything other than hoarding, and it didn’t appear to have been searched.
I did notice two boxes of old plumbing supplies in the corner nearest the door. It would have been easy to grab a pipe out of one of the boxes and take it into the house to bash Dave in the head.
Glenn continued to make his way through the garage to look for more hiding places Dave might have used.
I stepped outside and looked around. There was no sign of anyone in the houses on either side of Dave’s. An alley ran behind the properties, and I noticed the garbage cans were out. I walked behind Dave’s garage and lifted the lid on the can. The other canvas satchel was on top of the garbage. I pulled it out and checked it. It was empty.
“Ravens!” Sergeant Rorski’s voice bellowed from behind me.
I dropped the satchel back into the can, replaced the lid, and walked to stand next to Glenn. Sergeant Rorski had his usual companions of Officer Collins and Officer Winnie with him.
“What were you doing back there?” he asked.
“Just checking to see if there was any more money in the garbage.”
It seemed to pain him to speak with me. “Was there?”
“No.”
“Wheeler, what are you two doing here? This isn’t going to help with your suspension.”
“He’s with me,” I said. “I made him come. I told him about the money I found the other day, and I thought-”
Officer Winnie interrupted. “What money? You didn’t say anything about any money when I questioned you.”
“You didn’t ask.”
Sergeant Rorski’s face turned red. “Why didn’t you put it in your statement?”
“I didn’t make a statement.”
A muscle twitched in his cheek. “Why not?” He turned to Officer Winnie. “Why didn’t she give a statement?”
“I don’t know, Sarge. She was here one minute, and then she wasn’t. She knows the drill. I thought she went to the station to write one.”
I pointed at the sergeant. “You told me to get out. I offered to go to the station to write a statement, but Officer Winnie said you wanted your questions answered right then, so I stayed and answered questions.”
The officer was immediately defensive. “That’s bull, Jo, and you know it. I couldn’t get a straight answer out of you. You are the-”
Sergeant Rorski cut him off. “Where did you find the money?”
I led the way into the kitchen to show him.
“What the hell happened in here?” the sergeant hollered. He pointed to the money on the kitchen table. “Where did that come from?”
“Obviously, someone came in after you left and ransacked the place,” I said. “They took the money I found in the bin over there, but they didn’t find this bag behind the painting in the upstairs bedroom.”
He looked astonished. “How did you know any of this money was here?”
“I found it while I was waiting for you to show up with your men.”
His face flushed red with anger. “Winnie, take her to the station. I want a full statement of everything she’s done since she showed up here on Friday to right now this minute. Don’t let her leave until you get it.” He turned to Glenn. “Wheeler, go home. You have no business here.” He paused and looked at the two of us. We both carried expressions of innocence on our faces. “Wait a minute. How did you two get in here?”
“The back door was unlocked,” I said.
“I locked the door myself last Friday, Sarge,” Officer Collins said.
“Well, it was unlocked today,” I said.
The sergeant looked at Glenn. “Is that true?”
“I wasn’t at the door when she opened it, sir.”
I held back a smile. At least one of us was being truthful.
~ ~ ~
Sergeant Rorski wanted a full statement from me, so I gave him one.
I not only detailed my activities in Dave Jackson’s house, but I told him I ate an entire order of ribs from Smitty’s later that night. I wrote how I spent Saturday irritating the snot out of my sister at the farmer’s market, and I even gave him some details to include that Clay Carpenter thought the Buxley Police were inept.
I told him I saw Jackie accept her award Saturday night and then Glenn and I made up after fighting all week, but I didn’t tell him about our upcoming living arrangements. I finished by writing we went to the farmer’s market to buy fruit, and then we stopped by Dave’s place on the way home. I was thorough about our trek through the house, but I conveniently left out the part about the back door being unlocked. I didn’t want to lie on an official police statement.
Officer Winnie grunted when he saw the sheer volume of pages I had written, but then his countenance changed. He appeared sincere when he asked, “Why do you make things so difficult, Jo?”
I decided to give him an honest answer. “My occupation is legitimate, Bill, and I do a good job. I work hard, and I’ve been more helpful to the department than not. Sergeant Rorski rarely gives me any respect, and Officer Collins continually harasses me. I deserve better. Why should I go out of my way to help you guys when you constantly dismiss me? That money is a good motive for murder, and you wouldn’t know anything about it if it wasn’t for me.”
“Maybe, but we probably would have found out about it.”
“Whatever. That’s my statement. Unless there’s something else, I’m calling Glenn to come pick me up.”
~ ~ ~
I lost count of how many times I yawned. And now, I had unconsciously added a loud noise to the end of each yawn that sounded like a hissing cat.
“Why don’t you go to bed?” Glenn asked.
“It’s only eight o’clock. I don’t want to go to bed yet.”
“You’ll be asleep in no time, and you need a good night’s rest for jury duty tomorrow.”
I didn’t want to go to bed by myself on our first night of officially living together.
While I had been at the station writing my statement, Glenn had been at his house loading the truck with his clothes and personal items. We made room for both in my bedroom and bath after he picked me up. We were going to wait and move his larger items next weekend.
“Are you coming, too?”
&
nbsp; “I’ll be up when this show’s over.”
He was watching a British show about con men. Grifters he called them. Normally, I would have enjoyed this type of program, but I was so tired and emotionally drained, I hadn’t been able to concentrate and didn’t have a clue what was going on.
I yawn-hissed again.
“Jo, go to bed,” he insisted.
“All right. I’m going.”
I kissed him and trudged up the stairs.
As always, I glanced toward the murder room when I hit the top of the stairs. Instead of going to the bedroom, I walked down the hallway to the room and reached around the corner to flip the light switch.
I stood in the doorway and stared at the whiteboard. Something had been bothering me in the back of my mind. I had a strong feeling I missed something at Dave Jackson’s today, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.
I grabbed a marker and added the new information from the farmer’s market under the column for the robberies:
Bill, Bobbie, and Bill, Jr. run space selling answering machines
Bobbie has big mouth - isn’t afraid of a fight
Brass candlestick – possible companion to murder weapon
Under Richard’s Munson’s murder, I wrote:
Wilma’s tip from port-a-potty – overheard two men say maid did it
I wasn’t going anywhere with that information. I had to make time soon to talk with Richard’s ex-wife and his girlfriend.
For Dave Jackson’s murder, I wrote:
$100k stolen
$100k found
Satchel in garbage can
That was it! The satchel in the garbage can was what was bothering me. Not the actual satchel, but the garbage can itself.
Tomorrow was trash day. Dave’s garbage can was still in the garage. I had peeked in when Glenn lifted the lid, and the garbage appeared to be fresh from the week. If Dave were alive, he would have most likely tied the bag off and set the can out Sunday night or Monday morning.
Murder Wins the Game Page 13