Murder Wins the Game

by Maddie Cochere

Seven of the jurors raised their hands and commented they wanted to change their votes.

  But my light bulb wasn’t just for figuring out Roberta Hart was the one who likely stole the jewelry and money. It was also because she was Dave Jackson’s neighbor. I had been surprised at how clean his house was. Every room was absolutely spotless, and I didn’t know of any man Dave’s age who would keep such a clean house. He must have hired Roberta.

  I didn’t know how or why yet, but I knew deep inside she killed Richard Munson and Dave Jackson. That the matching candlestick was probably in the midst of stolen merchandise linked her to the home robberies as well.

  I needed to talk with Glenn right away.

  “I say we take a new vote,” I said.

  Mama shot a dirty look my way. “I’ll take the vote,” she said. “All in favor of letting Wilbur Finch go his merry way, even though he stole from that nice lady, raise your hand.”

  Every hand in the room went up except for Mama’s. She looked at the clock on the wall. It was almost noon.

  “Ok, I give,” she said. “Let’s get this over, so we can go to lunch.”

  “Don’t eat the bean soup,” Juror Number One advised.

  There was some grumbling in the room about Mama’s behavior yesterday, but most of the jurors laughed. I think everyone was glad to be done with their civic duty.

  It was another hour before we were out of the courtroom and standing on the sidewalk in front of the courthouse.

  Wilma was excited like a child. “Jo, you were so good in there. It was just like on television when the killer is revealed during the trial. You should be a detective, because you figured that out so good.”

  Mama puffed her chest out a bit. “She is a detective. Didn’t you know that?”

  “I’m not a detective. I’m a private investigator. And I didn’t really figure out anything. I just put out another theory as to who might have stolen Ellen’s money and jewelry. We can’t know for sure who stole it, but having reasonable doubt was enough to set Wilbur free.”

  “I’m hungry,” Mama said. “Since we’re here, let’s go back to the cafe and have the bean soup again.”

  Wilma was all for it, but I said, “No way. My stomach is back to normal, and I’m finally not thirsty. I have work to do anyway. I’m going to the office.”

  They took off for the cafe, and I headed for my truck. It was a warm day, and I worked up a sweat getting there. I started the vehicle and turned on the air. While I cooled down, I called Glenn, but the call went right to voice mail.

  I knew I should go to the office and talk with Arnie about the new cases. The longer I was out of the office, the more aggravated he would become, but I had other things on my mind.

  Even though I knew the farmer’s market closed at noon, I tried calling again anyway. No one answered, and I heard the same recorded message as before.

  I had almost two hours before I had to be at the Garden Center to meet with Jackie and Pepper to question Judith Munson. That gave me plenty of time to swing by the Drucker’s and question Bernie or his father about Roberta and Dave Jackson.

  I drove to 455 Arch Street.

  There wasn’t any parking available on the street, so I made my way around to the back of the property and parked along the hedges lining the alley.

  I walked up the stairs and gave the door a couple hard raps.

  Mr. Drucker answered the door.

  “What do you want?” he asked.

  “Did you give your son his subpoena?”

  “What are you? The subpoena police? I gave it to him.” He pushed the door to shut it.

  “Wait. That’s not why I’m here.” I pulled one of my business cards out of my bag and handed it to him. “I want to ask you a few questions about your downstairs neighbor, Roberta Hart. Do you have a minute?”

  He studied the card and his tone changed. He didn’t seem so surly. “Sure. Come on in.” This time he pushed the door open wider.

  I stepped into a small kitchen. He led the way to the next room, which served as a dining room. He motioned for me to have a seat at the table.

  “What do you want to know?” he asked.

  “Before I ask you about Roberta, I want to ask you about Dave Jackson. Did you know him very well?”

  “Well enough to borrow a hammer or a cup of sugar. He was a good man.”

  “Your windows on this side of the house all look out onto his property. Did you see anything the day he was murdered?”

  “The police already questioned me, and I told them I didn’t see anything. Just because my windows face his property doesn’t mean I’m looking out and watching the guy. Do you look out your windows and watch your neighbors?”

  I smiled. “No. It’s a standard question. What about since then? His house was broken into after the murder. Have you noticed anyone hanging around or any strangers going in or out?”

  “Nope.”

  It’s not always easy to read people, but he was relaxed and not combative. I believed him.

  “Roberta cleans homes for a living. Do you know if she was cleaning Dave’s house?”

  He pursed his lips and looked up into the corner of the room as though thinking very hard. He looked back to me and said, “That would explain it. After he won his money, I’d see her walk over there every now and then. She’d stay for a couple hours. I thought she was having sex with him for money. Maybe she was cleaning his house. Maybe she was doing both.”

  I never gave the sex angle a thought. Maybe she wanted more from Dave than casual sex. When he wouldn’t agree to a commitment, she killed him. She probably knew he had money stashed in the house, but she couldn’t look for it while he was there.

  I really needed to talk with Glenn.

  “I appreciate your talking with me,” I told him. I reached down to pick up my bag from the floor and glanced toward the living room at the same time. It was a large room and appeared to be nicely furnished. I couldn’t stop looking into the room, even as I stood up.

  “What are you looking at? That’s our new smart television. Pretty nice, huh? You got one? Netflix, Hulu, Prime. It’s got ‘em all.”

  I tried to smile and nod, but I knew I had a terrible poker face. The television isn’t what had caught my eye. It was the edge of a zippered canvas bag sticking out from behind the sofa. It matched the ones I had seen in Dave’s house, and the one in the garbage can. If it came from Dave’s house, that made three bags so far.

  I needed to leave right away and call Sergeant Rorski.

  There were voices at the back door. A moment later, the same young guy running the space at the farmer’s market walked into the dining room. He was followed by Roberta Hart. I was confused but knew instinctively I was suddenly in danger.

  “What’s she doing here?” Roberta asked with a voice full of hatred.

  “Hey, that’s the lady from the market,” the young guy said. “She bought the answering machine I was telling you about. The one with the tape still in it.”

  William Drucker studied my card and read from it. “This is Jo Ravens, private investigator. Bobbie, she’s investigating you.”

  Bobbie? The man from the market said the people running the space next to his were Bill, Bobbie, and Bill Junior. I couldn’t believe I didn’t make the connection before this. The Williams both went by Bill, and Bill Junior was also Bernie from Kimble Auto Parts.

  “Mom? What’s going on?” Bernie asked.

  “Keep your mouth shut. Don’t say anything,” she told him.

  I tried to sound calm when I said, “Bobbie. A nickname for Roberta. Did you make up the name Roberta Hart?”

  “Creative. Don’t you think?” she asked with a smug smile on her face. “Why are you investigating me?”

  “I’m not. I only wanted to know if you cleaned for Dave Jackson, and if you saw anyone suspicious hanging around his place.”

  She didn’t answer. Her look was one of steel.

  We had reached a stalemate. No one spoke or moved. I
was sure we all had wheels spinning in our heads as to our next move. I knew I needed to get out of there.

  “Thanks for your time,” I said and took a step toward the kitchen. “I’ll be going now.”

  I saw Bill Senior look at his wife and slightly nod his head. She reached into her purse, pulled out a gun, and aimed it at my head.

  “You’re not going anywhere.”

  I couldn’t believe the thought that popped into my head. Someone would be calling Sergeant Rorski and saying, Mrs. White, in the dining room, with the gun.

  I set my bag on the table and held my hands out from my body. “Don’t do anything stupid. We can talk about this.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about,” Bill Senior said. “Take her downstairs.”

  “I’ll do it,” Bernie said.

  His mother didn’t argue. She handed the gun to him.

  He stepped back to give me room to walk into the kitchen. As soon as I went through the doorway, I lunged for the back door and yanked. It was locked.

  In the next moment, I was on my knees with stars swirling around my head. Bernie had cracked me upside the head with his hand holding the gun.

  Bobbie threw my bag at my head. It bounced off and landed in front of me. “Hurry up,” she said to Bernie. “We need to pack up.”

  Bernie kicked my backside. “Get up.”

  I was only a little wobbly when I stood. My head hurt from the blow, but my thoughts were clear.

  He opened a narrow door that was a tight fit for one person. He pushed me through the opening, and I found myself on a small landing. He reached in beside me and threw a light switch. The dim bulb barely illuminated a steep set of stairs ahead of me. A secret passageway. It must go to the lounge.

  What was wrong with my brain? I hadn’t played Clue since Pepper, Hank, and I were kids, and I didn’t understand why the game kept surfacing in my mind now.

  The gun in my back forced my descent down the stairs. I shuddered as my forearm broke a large spider web.

  I stopped when I reached the bottom of the stairs. There were no windows, and the room was too dark to see what it held.

  Bernie flipped another switch. A single, dim bulb hung from the middle of the ceiling. I was sure I saw something scurry across the dirt floor.

  The room was sparse. One corner held a pile of old, wooden dining room chairs. Bernie found one with the wicker intact on the seat and set it under the bulb.

  “Sit,” he said.

  “Listen, Bill,” I said, as I sat gingerly on the chair. I was afraid if I called him Bernie, he might go off on me again. “I know your mother murdered Richard Munson and Dave Jackson, but I know people. I can help her. You don’t want your mother to go to prison, do you?”

  “You don’t know anything,” he said and began the task of tying my hands behind me. “Mom didn’t kill anyone, and they can’t touch me. A couple years in juvie and I’m out. But that’s only if I’m caught. After I kill you, we’ll be out of the state by morning, and we’ll have new identities.”

  “If you’re caught, you’ll be tried as an adult.”

  “No I won’t.” He smiled a broad smile. “I’m a troubled youth.”

  I kept talking, trying to buy some time. I had to think of a way to stop him from shooting me.

  “But you work at Kimble Auto Parts. How did you get your job if you’re under eighteen?”

  He looked at me like my stupid question didn’t deserve an answer. He began tying my feet together.

  “Then why kill me? No one but me knows you’re connected to the murders, so why not leave me here? I might die before anyone finds me, and if I don’t, I won’t tell anyone.

  His look regarding my stupidity remained the same.

  “Don’t go anywhere,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

  He went upstairs, and I immediately stood up. He was a moron for not tying me to the chair. I hopped once toward the stairs. The blow to my head must have messed with my balance, and I fell face down in the dirt. My eyes filled with tears, my nose hurt like the dickens, and I felt blood trickle to my mouth.

  I turned over on my side and pulled my knees up to move my hands under my feet and bring them in front of me. The move was a lot harder than when I saw people do it on television. It would probably be easy for a skinny person. I added the move to my mental list of reasons to lose weight. I’d definitely start eating more protein tomorrow.

  I pushed myself up on my knees and managed to get to my feet. I looked around for my bag. If I could get my stun gun, I might have a chance. I didn’t see the bag anywhere.

  I needed to find something I could use as a weapon. Other than grabbing a chair to swing, there was nothing. I hopped to the stack.

  Bernie ran down the stairs and found me trying to grasp a chair.

  “Hey,” he yelled, waving the gun. “Get back in the chair.”

  It was an effort, but I hopped back to the chair without falling.

  He had a roll of duct tape in his hand. “Dave has everything in that garage of his,” he said with a smile and wasted no time securing me to the chair with half the roll of tape. I knew he’d be putting tape over my mouth soon.

  “Why did you kill Richard Munson?”

  “He’d still be alive if he hadn’t been there that day. He wasn’t supposed to be. Mom gave me the key to the front door, and I was going to steal some stuff to sell. He walked in on me in the dining room, and he had to be a big blowhard and run to his office to call the police. There was no way I was getting caught. We’ve never been caught. I took the candlestick and bashed him a good one. Do you think my mom is strong enough to crush a skull with one blow? Not on your life.”

  I was sickened by his words, but I needed to know more.

  “What about Dave Jackson?”

  “Mom was always friendly with him. Sometimes, she took dinner over. His place was a mess, and she kept offering to clean it, but he always turned her down. After he won his money, he took her up on her offer.

  He made the mistake of telling her he wasn’t keeping all his money in the bank. I got tired of waiting for her to find it when she cleaned. I took the pipe from his garage and went in the house while he was getting his lunch. I asked him if I could have the pipe for a project I was working on, and then we talked about my work at Kimble’s. He was interested in the stolen parts there.”

  He chuckled when he mentioned the stolen parts and put the tape over my mouth.

  “I waited until he sat down and then gave it to him with one blow. I would have tossed the place right then, but some crazy woman started banging on the front door and screaming her head off about Dave and the lottery, so I got out of there. Mom wouldn’t let me go back over, but after Dave was found and taken away, there wasn’t anybody around, so I went back and found the bags.”

  I yelled my next question against the tape. He must have understood some of the muffled words.

  “The money fit in one bag. We didn’t need both of them, so I put one in the trash. We deliberately didn’t leave town right away, so we wouldn’t be suspects, but you changed all that with your snooping around. Mom wants me to wait to kill you, but I think I should do it now.”

  He stood back and pointed the gun at my chest. I closed my eyes and turned my head, but I opened them again when he didn’t pull the trigger. I could tell he was thinking.

  There were voices at the top of the stairs. Bernie ran to the light switch and flipped the bulb over my head off. The stairs only had a little light on them from the dim bulb at the top.

  We heard footsteps. Someone was coming down to us.

  Bernie whispered in my ear, “Don’t make a move, and don’t say a word, or you’re both dead.” He moved off into the blackness.

  I couldn’t imagine who would be coming down the stairs or why. My heart pounded so hard, I was sure whoever it was would hear it.

  I was stunned a moment later when I saw Clay Carpenter come into view. He stood on the last step and peered into the darkness. H
e didn’t take the last step. Instead he muttered under his breath, “Oh, hell no. There’s probably rats down here.”

  I couldn’t believe it when he turned around and went back upstairs. My eyes stung now with tears of frustration. If I got out of here alive, I was going to find him and kill him.

  Bernie and I remained motionless for what seemed an eternity. Bobbie finally yelled down the stairs, “Billy, get up here right now.”

  There was no way to know what was happening. Because the downstairs apartment separated the basement from the upper apartment, I couldn’t hear footsteps or voices. Bernie had flipped the light switch when he went upstairs, and I was in total blackness.

  I did know if I didn’t want him to run back down here and put a bullet in my head, I needed to free myself.

  Bernie wasn’t the smartest kid. The rope he used was one that had originally been used to tie the old chairs together. It was heavily dry rotted in places. He had left my hands in front of me, and I began rubbing the rope against the edge of the chair between my legs.

  It was surprisingly easy to break the strands, and my hands were soon free. I ripped the duct tape from my mouth. I considered screaming, but I was afraid Bernie would come back with the gun to shut me up. I figured it was best to continue to free myself and sneak out.

  The tape around my body was another matter. It was difficult to bend my hands back to reach the edge of the tape. I managed to get a thumb under one edge and worked my nail against the tape until I created a tear. I pulled a small strand of the tape away, and then another, but there was still too much holding me to the chair. It took a long time, but little by little, I continued to pick, tear, and pull until I had enough of the tape torn away in front of me to push the rest of it, along with my shirt, over my head and slide out from under it.

  I sat on the dirt floor and worked to untie my feet. This piece of rope was in better condition. No matter how hard I pulled on the knot, it wouldn’t budge. It wasn’t long before my fingers felt raw from clawing at the rough knot.

  It finally budged, and I could slip a finger into the loop and pull the knot apart. I knew I was still in front of the chair and the stairs would be ahead of me and to the right by about ten feet.