by K. J. Emrick
Old man. With a cane.
Cookie sat straight up in bed.
“What? Whazzit?” Jerry snorted. He’d already been half asleep again. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” Cookie promised before admitting, “Well, something. Everything, maybe? I was just thinking about something.”
At the end of the bed Cream grumbled and shook himself and jumped down to the floor to find someplace quieter to sleep. He knew Cookie’s habits, and he knew that if she was talking this much, she wasn’t going to be sleeping anytime soon.
Grumbling almost as much as Cream had, Jerry sat up with his back against the wall. In the darkness she could see him running his hands through his messed-up hair as he blinked and tried to wake up enough to be coherent. “Okay. All right. Um. Why don’t you tell me what’s going on in that restless mind of yours?”
She loved him for humoring her. He was a good man. “Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe I’m just tired.”
“I know I am,” he joked in a very serious way. “Well. You know, if we weren’t going to sleep we could have just kept driving through the night and caught up to everyone else.”
“I’m sorry, honey, really. I can let you get back to sleep if you want.”
His hand found hers and held it tight. “No. Really, I’m fine. I want to hear what you’re thinking. If I drop off, just pinch me.”
“Maybe I’ll pinch you anyway,” she said with a smile. “But later. I was just thinking about Humphrey.”
“While you were in bed with me?”
“Silly man. It’s something you said just now.”
“Pinch me?”
“No, not that. The other thing. About how Humphrey uses his cane to walk.”
“Well, yeah. You saw him in his Airstream, right? He could hardly get up out of his chair, let alone walk ten paces to get his keys back from you. He didn’t have his cane with him.”
“Right. And when I saw him outside after Ernesto was killed, he had to hold onto the side of his RV just to get back and forth. It was the same thing there. He didn’t have his cane. I’m not sure he can take three steps without it.”
Jerry yawned again. “Maybe it’s because I’m not really awake yet, but I’m not getting the point. Did you have a point, or did you just want to see what I look like after two hours of sleep a night?”
“Stay with me, dear. Humphrey didn’t have his cane at that point. You found it in the burn barrel, out by the bathrooms at Heaven’s Haven. That was several hundred feet behind where his Airstream was parked. Or something like that. I’m not very good with judging distances.”
“It was about five hundred feet. Maybe a little more.”
“Okay, so that would mean that Humphrey must have killed Ernesto, and beat Stacia into unconsciousness, and then walked all that way to the burn barrel.”
He nodded, scrubbing a hand over his face again. “Yeah. That’s what the facts show.”
“All right. I’m okay with it up to that point. But then…?”
“Then? Then… what?” He dropped his hands, and Cookie could almost see the keen interest in his eyes. He knew she was on to something. “He tried to get rid of the murder weapon in the burn barrel, and then what?”
“Well, that’s the point. That barrel is five hundred feet away from the RV. Without his cane, how exactly did he get back, crawl on the ground?”
He was quiet for a moment while his fingers found hers in her lap. “Okay, I see your point. That’s hard to picture. Although, it was late at night, and no one would have seen him if he did crawl his way back. People do stupid things when they’ve just committed murder. I mean, murder isn’t the smartest thing in the world to begin with.”
Cookie knew that was true. People did things to cover up their sins that would make a sane person’s mind tie itself up in knots. It wasn’t all that crazy to think that Humphrey might have crawled his way back home after dumping his murder weapon in the trash.
It wasn’t all that likely, either.
Still…
“You might be right,” she finally relented. “I suppose I’m just tired. Let’s go to sleep.”
“Now you’re talking.”
In the next breath he was under the covers again with his eyes closed. She laughed softly at his ability to just shut his mind off. She joined him, pushing herself right up to him. It was definitely time to go to sleep. Their trip wasn’t over yet, and they still had to talk to Stacia tomorrow, so she would know what happened to Boxer.
Poor Boxer. The first victim in this whole mystery.
Her mind refused to shut off. It kept going over all of the facts, chewing on them like a dog with a bone.
A dog like Boxer.
The first victim.
She turned over onto her side. Boxer’s blood was on Humphrey’s cane. The murder weapon had Boxer’s blood on it when Jerry found it.
Just Boxer’s blood. No one else’s.
He was the first victim.
Ernesto was the second.
But, Ernesto’s blood was not on the cane. Only Boxer’s.
She sat up in bed again.
“What is it?” Jerry asked, stretching his arms out wide. “I know you’re wide awake, and I know you’re still thinking about the mystery. I’m guessing we should put on some coffee?”
“You promised me a latté, remember?”
“You get lattés after six a.m. Between one and two you get coffee from the pot.” He sat up, rubbing at the back of his neck before reaching over for the light switch.
Cookie blinked against the sudden brightness. “I’m sorry. I wish I could just tell my mind to go to sleep but it doesn’t work that way. Do you know how many nights I’ve sat up for hours when I’m fretting over a new recipe I’m trying to get just right?”
“Yes, I do,” he said, “because I’ve been right there with you for several of them. I guess I’m just going to have to get used to getting very little sleep when I’m married to a woman as special as Karen Stansted, aka Cookie, aka my wonderful wife.”
“But I’m worth it, right?”
He smiled at her and leaned in to kiss her cheek. “You know you are. All right. So tell me what’s bothering you now.”
“It’s the blood,” she told him. “The report that Lieutenant Fairfield showed us said there was only dog’s blood on the cane.”
“Right. Boxer’s blood.”
“Exactly. Or so I’m sure the lab will say once they’ve done their comparison. But, if we understand the events of the crime correctly, then Boxer was killed first, at Whispering Maples, and then that night Ernesto and Stacia were attacked at Heaven’s Haven. Both with the same cane, but Boxer came first and Ernesto and Stacia were next. So, shouldn’t there be human blood on the cane, too?”
He crossed his legs under the blanket, bare chested, in just his boxer briefs. Even as they talked about such a morbid subject, Cookie loved to let her eyes roam over his bare chest, and to fantasize about what it would feel like to have her fingers play over his skin.
“Cookie… hey, eyes up here, girl.”
She laughed and let her gaze linger for just a moment before looking up into his eyes. “Sorry. I know this is serious.”
“It’s also our honeymoon, but let’s put that aside for a minute.”
“Hmmm. Only for a minute?”
He tried to give her a reproving look, but she’d noticed where his own eyes went as soon as the lights went on.
“Ahem,” he said, dramatically clearing his throat. “So, yes, the report said there was only dog’s blood on that walking stick of Humphrey’s, but it was only a preliminary report. Maybe there was human blood on there, but they just haven’t found it in the lab, yet. It works that way sometimes.”
“Okay, true.” Cookie knew enough about police investigations from the ones she and Jerry had worked together to know just how true that was. Sometimes the police lab didn’t have all the answers for weeks. Sometimes for months. “But we’re talking about two very dif
ferent kinds of blood. It seems to me that they should be able to tell the difference. Oh. And there’s something else.”
“With you, there usually is,” he said, but he smiled as he said it. “So, tell me. What else about the walking stick has you bothered?”
“Remember when we were at the American Heritage museum?”
“Of course. It was you, me, Penny and Franky.”
“Right, but we also saw Humphrey there. He still had his cane. Remember?”
Jerry’s eyes narrowed as he stifled another yawn. “Uh, oh yeah. Yes, I do. We saw him walking with it. So he had his cane with him there. So? The man can’t walk without it, like we’ve already said.”
She reached out a hand now to cup the side of his face. “Tired man. Need me to spell it out for you?”
“Well, let’s pretend that I already know what you mean, but let’s have you say it out loud to make sure we’re on the same page.”
“Okay. In the timeline of the murders that we’ve constructed, Humphrey kills Boxer. Then, our group leaves Whispering Maples. Next, we see Humphrey at the museum walking around with his cane only there should be dog’s blood all over it, right? You saw the amount of blood that was on it after you found it in the burn barrel. What did Humphrey do, walk around the museum using a bloody walking stick? Does that make sense?”
He blinked at her, fighting to keep his eyes open. “No. I have to admit that it doesn’t make sense for him to have done that. Someone would have noticed if there was blood on his cane.”
“Exactly.”
“But, we know that the cane was used to kill Boxer. It had dog blood on it.”
“I know. So. How is it possible that it didn’t have Boxer’s blood on it after the killing, but then did have Boxer’s blood on it later, when you found it?”
He threw his hands up in the air. “Well, I give up. My brain needs coffee, and that’s all there is to it.”
“Know what I think?” she asked him.
“That a blueberry Danish would be good with our coffee?”
“No… well, yes, but I mean about the case. I don’t think that cane was used to kill Ernesto.”
That got him awake. At least, a little bit. He took her hand in his again as he tried to understand what she was saying. “Humphrey had his cane with him. At least until he got to Heaven’s Haven. But, Boxer was killed back at Whispering Maples.”
“Right.” That was exactly what Cookie had meant.
“So someone must have… what? Driven the walking stick back to Whispering Maples and… spread Boxer’s blood on it? Cookie, that’s…”
“Insane, I know, but it’s the only scenario that fits the facts. Remember when Humphrey said someone stole his cane? What if he was right?” She shook her head, remembering the confrontation between them and Humphrey. “What if it was stolen from him, brought back to have incriminating evidence put on it—”
“Boxer’s blood,” he added.
“And then, the cane is brought back here for you to find. You, or whoever was going to look in the burn barrel first.” In fact, the more Cookie thought about it the more certain she felt that this was a set up to frame Humphrey. “Someone had to have done that. Someone, say, in a purple hatchback that we saw tailing Stacia’s RV to Heaven’s Haven, but then was right back at Whispering Maples to take Boxer’s body from us.”
“Which would explain why they took Boxer’s body. They didn’t want the coverup to be revealed with a blood test. Once they knew we were there for the dog, everything was starting to unwind. So then… do we think those two in the hatchback are the killers? What were their names…?”
Cookie remembered. “Tabitha, and Brock.”
“Right. Do we think they killed Ernesto?”
She thought about that. “No. I don’t. Because why would they target Ernesto and Stacia? According to Stacia no one had any reason to hate her husband. It had to be someone close to the two of them who did this. Have you heard Stacia mention Tabitha and Brock? No? I know I haven’t. I don’t remember Penny and Franky talking about anyone by those names, either.”
“We’re looking for someone close to Stacia and Ernesto.”
“Exactly. Someone in our group.”
“Well. This mystery just got more intriguing, didn’t it? If this is all true, then Humphrey isn’t our killer. Someone stole his cane, just like he said they did.”
“To use it to frame him.”
“Right. And then got this Tabitha and Brock involved to help.”
Cookie frowned. It all made sense. Could someone be this demented, this hateful of Stacia and Ernesto?
Then again, people didn’t always need a reason to be mean and cruel. For some people, it was just a part of their nature.
“Abraham Selk,” she said as the thought occurred to her. “Selk hates dogs. If he drove that hatchback to Heaven’s Haven, following Stacia, maybe he’s our killer?”
More alert now and with his mental wheels turning, Jerry shook his head to that idea. “No, I don’t think so. Selk was not a nice man, I grant you, but we’ve already gone down that road with Humphrey Middlestead. We can’t accuse him just because we don’t like him. Besides, he’s the one who told us about Boxer’s death. He’s the one who loaned us his mustang, so we could catch those two after they drove off in the hatchback with Boxer’s body. Know what I think?”
“What?”
“I think the two we stopped in the hatchback were the same two who followed Stacia. I think they either killed Ernesto, or they helped cover it up. I think they stole Humphrey’s walking stick and poured some of Boxer’s blood on it. That means they had the blood already. That means this was premeditated and everything was thought out ahead of time. Including leaving Boxer’s body there at Whispering Maples. They just never expected Selk to find Boxer’s body while they were gone. They never expected us to show up to collect Boxer, either.”
“Really? Because it was like they were waiting for us.”
“Yes. Yes, it was.” He jumped up from the bed now, heading to the counter and switching on the coffee pot. “Which means that someone tipped those two off that we were coming back. All right. Now we’re getting somewhere. Those two aren’t the killer. They’re just helping the killer. The real killer called them when we were on the way back to Whispering Maples and told them to be ready to grab the only real evidence that Humphrey wasn’t the murderer.”
“Boxer’s body,” Cookie gasped. “My, Jerry. You are so smart when you’re awake.”
“Wait until I get some coffee in me,” he promised. He was practically hopping from bare foot to bare foot, excited now that pieces they hadn’t even considered before were starting to fall into place. “So the real killer was someone who knew we were heading back to Whispering Maples.”
“But who knew that?” Cookie wondered. “We didn’t tell anyone where we were going…”
Only, they had.
“Exactly,” he said. “We did tell someone. We told Franky and Penny.”
Now Cookie was up out of bed, too. “And Franky hates dogs.”
“Enough to kill Boxer?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
Actually, Cookie couldn’t imagine anyone hating dogs enough to kill one, but someone certainly had. “Could that be the motive?” she asked. “Something to do with Boxer?”
“Hard to say. Remember, they’ve all taken this trip together before, several times in the past. I heard that right from Penny. Franky, too.”
“And I heard it from Stacia. I suppose there’s a past there with our new friends. There could be some sort of hard feelings between them that we know nothing about.”
“Exactly. People tend to keep their motives for murder quiet until the last chapter of the story. If they talked about it beforehand, police could stop murders before they happened.”
“Wouldn’t that be wonderful?”
“Yes,” he agreed, “it would, but at the same time it would make for a boring story.”
So maybe t
here was bad blood between the two couples they had met on this trip. Stacia and Ernesto Ferris, and Franky and Penny LaRock. Something to do with Boxer the Jack Russell terrier. It was possible. Dogs sparked strong emotions. Love, and maybe hate as well.
Cookie frowned, turning to look at Cream where he was settled in the captain’s chair at the front of the motorhome. Dogs were such lovable creatures. Such a big part of any family who adopted them. They inspired love, and loyalty, as far as she was concerned. Not murder.
Anyone who killed a dog must be a very bad man, indeed.
She stepped up next to Jerry, putting her arm around his waist. Suddenly, she felt very cold. His body warmed her like nothing else could. “So, Franky and Penny called to our two hoodlums in the purple hatchback, so they would be sitting there, waiting for us? Is that what we’re thinking?”
“Yeah,” he said, loading the coffee pot and adding water from the filter pitcher. “I can’t see any other way that Tabitha and Brock could have been waiting for us. Or, maybe it was just one of them. Penny, or Franky. You saw the way they were acting toward each other. There’s trouble in that marriage. They might have no idea what each other is up to.”
“Hmm. Well, if only one of them is our real killer, I’m betting on Franky. He hates dogs, too. He might have killed Boxer, and then tried to kill Ernesto and Stacia to cover it up. He got Ernesto, but Stacia survived.”
“Maybe,” he agreed. “People have killed for worse reasons. I feel like we’re still missing something, though. Something about the blood on the cane. It’s just not coming to me.”
“You need coffee,” Cookie suggested.
“Well, there’s other ways to wake up.”
His hand covered hers. His body pressed into her. The look in his eyes when he turned her way made it very clear to Cookie exactly what he was thinking about. Even though she had more than just a few extra pounds that she just couldn’t seem to drop, and even though they were both over that metaphorical hill, there was no denying that she still held a special place in his heart. She liked knowing that. It made her feel young.
“I think there will be time for stuff like that later,” she said, even though a part of her wanted to take him back to bed and tear off what little clothing he was wearing and make both of their fantasies come true. Even if it was for just a little while, she wanted that.