52 Steps to Murder (12 page)

“It was a slow day for deliveries. Especially for a Saturday. Bobby had only two. Our checking device told us he arrived at the first delivery at 9:45 and the second one at 10:07. Despite the fact that he didn’t have any more deliveries, he didn’t return to the store until a little after 11:00.”

Lou and I replenished our stock of candy and decided we would ask a few questions of Harry Hornwell, Mrs. Nelson’s attorney, and return later to question the delivery boy.

Harry Hornwell’s spacious office occupied the second floor of a two-story, red brick building in the downtown area. A  couch,  two  chairs  on  rollers,  and  a coffee table occupied space on the right side of the room. Two more chairs faced a desk, and another chair stood behind the desk. Each of the chairs and the couch were covered with cordovan leather. Mr. Hornwell’s large, mahogany desk matched not only the couch and chairs, but the large bookcases that surrounded his office. The Oriental rug beneath our feet looked expensive, and the hardwood floor, visible from the end of the rug to the wall, seemed of fine quality. The entire area screamed that the attorney was well-heeled. Nothing about Mr. Hornwell’s demeanor contradicted what the room seemed to say about him. He answered our questions as quickly as possible, and his attitude seemed to say that he felt his time was more valuable than ours. Mr. Hornwell told us that he didn’t know much about what had happened to Mrs. Nelson, because he spent the weekend at his cabin. He left town late Friday afternoon and didn’t return until Sunday night.

We left Hornwell’s office and went back to the car. I called DMV and asked them to check on what vehicles Harry Hornwell owned and to give me the license plate numbers. He owned two cars, a truck, and an SUV. We lucked out. We found a black Lincoln Town Car licensed to Hornwell parked beside his office. There was mud on the tires and the lower part of the car’s body. Why would someone who owned a Lincoln Navigator and a Ford F-150 truck take his car into the woods?

We left Mr. Hornwell’s office and returned to Midtown Market. Bobby Cooper had returned. He answered each of our questions, but seemed nervous doing so. His manner suggested that the young man had something to hide. As I expected, he denied being on Hilltop Place the day of the murder and said that the reason his Saturday morning deliveries took longer than usual was because he wasn’t feeling well.

+++

With everyone questioned except Mrs. Jarvis, Miss Penrod, and Mrs. Murphy, Sgt. Murdock and I drove to the newspaper office to see what trinket of information a fifty-plus-year-old newspaper could provide. We arrived and the clerk informed us that we could find the information we wanted on microfiche at the local library. A few minutes later, Lou and I arrived at the library, gave an employee the date of the newspaper we were looking for, and a minute or so later the librarian presented us with a role of microfiche and instructions as to where to go and how to view it. The two of us scanned the newspaper, found the item we wanted in the local news section under the article “The Secrets of Hilltop Place.”

“So Lou, do you think there’s any truth in this article?”

“I don’t know, but I know there are two guys who are going to do their best to find out.”

“One thing’s for sure, if all of the houses on Hilltop Place really do have secret passageways that lead from room to room and tunnels underneath that lead from house to house; it sure explains how the killer could have gotten into the house without a key.”

“What do you say we grab some lunch and check out Mrs. Nelson’s house?”

+++

We stuffed ourselves in a way that would make a taxidermist proud, and then left to return to the case. I braked and eased Lightning in front of Mrs. Nelson’s house. Lou and I used one hand for leverage and extracted ourselves from the yellow bubble. As far as we could tell, neither Mr. Silverman nor Jimmy Reynolds was aware that we had returned. We were sure that our reappearance would not remain a secret for long.

“I wish I knew where that tunnel was, Lou. Then we wouldn’t have to climb all these steps.”

“I don’t know, Cy. I’d think these steps might be safer than those leading from the tunnel to the house.”

“You never know. This place might be like a mine shaft. There might be an elevator or a mining car leading to the top. Oh, well, we’re wasting time. Let’s go see if the key works this time.”

After a few minutes of heavy breathing, Plump and Plumper reached the front porch. I removed the key from my pocket, inserted it into the lock. The key turned and the door opened. Maybe our luck was about to improve. We looked around like two children on Christmas morning, only this time our gifts had been hidden from us.

“Where do you think we should start, Cy?”

“I don’t know. Let’s start in the pantry. That’s where we found the boots.”

To gather strength for our endeavor, Lou and I slid our hands into our coat pockets. I frowned when I noticed the next two nuts almost touched each other. I removed my pocketknife and carefully sliced one almond and a sliver of chocolate away from the remainder of the candy bar. Lou showed no remorse and blew hard enough to make a large opening in his already torn M&M package. He gulped down a satisfactory amount of a rainbow of little pieces.

The two of us studied a well-stocked section of canned goods. Everything had its place. One shelf contained fruits. Another shelf housed vegetables. Miscellaneous items occupied still another shelf.

“Any ideas?” Lou asked.

“Let’s slide our fingers across the edge of each shelf and see if we can find a spring that opens one side or the back wall.”

We donned gloves to prevent getting a splinter and erasing clues and went to work. A small stepladder helped us to reach the higher shelves.  Many minutes later, after a meticulous study of each shelf and corner, neither of us found a spring, lever, or button that identified a secret passageway.

“So, what’s Plan B?” Lou asked.

“I don’t know. Let’s say we remove everything from the shelves and see if we find anything hidden behind them.”

We plucked one item from the shelves and then another. After we had removed a few items, we were surprised by the depth of each shelf.

“Why would a single woman living alone have so much on hand?”

“Beats me. Looks like it was definitely enough to last her a lifetime.”

“Yeah, and then some.”

A few minutes later, we had loaded the kitchen table with items taken from the pantry, and still the pantry held an adequate amount of inventory.

“Think this stuff is still good, Cy?”

“I don’t know. Lou. Open a jar or a can and take a bite. If something happens to you, I’ll assume that I should throw out the rest of it.”

“Gee, thanks. That’s awful good of you, Cy.”

“What can I say? That’s what friends are for.”

“Remind me to recommend Stanley Silverman to be your partner in case I die.”

“And I thought you might recommend Heloise Humphert and her walking dust ball.”

“Maybe the three of you and your mascot could be our department’s first police trio, or would the beast make it a quartet?”

“If so, I plan to use a squad car and lock the others in the back seat.”

After what seemed like an eternity, we had removed all the bottles and jars from the pantry.

“Hey, Lou. Looks like you missed one.”

“That bottle of olives appears to be stuck, Cy. I couldn’t budge it. I guess it’s been there so long it’s taken up residence.”

“Just leave it. See anything that might help us?”

“Not so far.”

“Well, let’s just push on the wall and see if it moves.”

After a few more minutes and no results, Lou surmised, “It looks like this pantry is here to stay.”

“I’m still not convinced. Let’s take a break and mull it over for a few minutes.”

“Sounds good to me,” Lou said, already removing his M&Ms from his pocket.

15

We hadn’t found a passageway. We trudged through each downstairs room before we climbed the steps to the second floor. Once upstairs, we concentrated on Mrs. Nelson’s bedroom and her bedroom closet in particular. Lou and I tried any idea we came up with. I removed everything that hung in the closet. I hoped to find a hidden lever. When my efforts didn’t reveal any button, device, or contraption, I removed all the shoes from the closet floor. I wanted so much to find a loose board. Lou located a chair and dislodged all items from the closet shelf. He even pulled on the chain that turned on the closet light, as he hoped some action would cause a wall to slide away revealing a hidden stairway. When the sergeant left the closet defeated, I took a turn and twisted the bar that held the hangers. At least, I tried to twist it. Again, no such luck. Neither of us found anything that revealed a secret passageway. We slumped over and dejectedly made our way back down the stairs.

I plopped down and leaned back in an overstuffed chair and let the most-recent chocolate melt in my mouth. I tried to sort through all the information we had turned up. Finally, an idea came to me.

“We still haven’t found Mrs. Jarvis. We don’t know where she is or even if she’s still living. Maybe if we give her place another once-over we might get a clue. Let’s check out her pantry and see how it compares to the one in this house. Could be we’ll find a secret passageway and maybe we’ll find Mrs. Jarvis in it.”

Lou didn’t want to rain on my parade, so he failed to remind me of our recent lack of success. Instead, he lifted his tired body from the chair that bore his impression. As he did, the chair breathed a sigh of relief.

We returned to Mrs. Jarvis’s house, and soon found ourselves in front of a pantry much like the one we had just left. Having already been through the routine, we started removing cans and jars. When we’d finished, we discovered a startling revelation.

“Lou, what do you think the odds are of finding a stuck jar of olives in two pantries?”

“Astronomical.”

“I think we have two jars of olives that are trying to tell us something.”

I approached the jar of olives not content to let them beat me. Once again I tried to remove the jar, but to no avail. Next, I tried to scoot the olives, but they wouldn’t budge. I couldn’t lift or scoot them, so I tried to push the olives toward the wall. I had hoped to release a hidden spring or lock. Although I couldn’t see how it would help, I took both hands and pushed down on the jar. With still no success, I slid my gloved hand across the board below the olives. Once again, I hoped to trip some secret mechanism. Nothing worked. Frustrated, I sat down in a kitchen chair.

“I give up, Lou. Any ideas?”

“How about ‘in case of exit, break jar?’”

“I’ve wanted to break it ever since I found it, but that can’t be how it’s done. I’m sure whoever devised this didn’t break a jar of olives every time he wanted to use the secret passageway.”

“Well, we can always go with my other suggestion. Eat them.”

A light went on inside my head. At least, Lou’s comment gave me an inspiration.

“You know, Lou. You might have something there.”

“You’re not serious about eating the olives, are you?”

“Not eating them, but we’ve done everything except twist the lid.”

No sooner had the words come out of my mouth until another set of words hit me.
Twist and Shout.
I rushed over and twisted the jar lid counter-clockwise. Nothing happened. The lid didn’t budge.

“Maybe it’s because it’s been so long since someone used it,” Lou said, hoping to offer a little encouragement.

“But if our theory is right, it hasn’t been that long since someone used it,” I replied.

“Well, then try turning it the other way.”

Since all jars opened counter-clockwise, I never thought about turning the jar clockwise. Once again, I put my hand on the lid. This time I twisted the lid in the other direction. The lid did not budge, but the wall of the pantry moved to one side. Lou and I jumped up and down like a couple of children who had just spotted Santa Claus.

“Come on, Lou. Let’s follow God’s directions.”

I began to dance. I started twisting and Lou could contain himself no longer. He too began to twist. Until we became exhausted, two middle-aged men twisted, bumped hips, raised both hands into the air, and shouted. The lack of an audience spared us the embarrassment of the moment. After only a couple of minutes, we gasped for air as if we’d just climbed the front steps, again. We staggered over to the nearest chairs, plopped down, and waited until we could breathe normally again. Only two days passed.

Still in a jovial mood, I removed a brand new candy bar from my pocket, unwrapped it, took out my knife, and cut an almond and some chocolate from the center of the candy bar. After  I  put  it  in  my  mouth  and  savored it like it was a fine wine, I put the chocolate-framed peephole up to my eye and looked at Lou.

He stuck out his tongue, and then removed an M&M from his bag. It was a peanut M&M and the one Lou removed was yellow.

He held it up and showed it to me.

“Look, Cy. It’s Tweetie.”

“The car’s name is Lightning.”

The sergeant said, “Whatever,” and threw the yellow M&M at my peephole. It bounced off my forehead and landed on the floor. I leaned over, picked it up, and threw it back at Lou, who caught it in his mouth. Here we were two grown men acting like little boys as we celebrated our success. When the moment passed, we returned to work, but with a renewed spirit, as if we’d actually accomplished something.

“Before we check out the hidden staircase, let’s call the lab boys again.”

+++

In a little while, the Jarvis house was once again protruding with policemen. Their search turned up many secret passageways that led to places all over the house, places that appeared well hidden to the naked eye. They found dust and cobwebs, and the lack of footprints ahead of them revealed that they were the first persons to enter those passageways in many years. There was no sign of Mrs. Jarvis.

“I want to try the same thing at the Nelson house. I think we might find another passageway, and I think we’ll find that someone has been high stepping there.”