52 Steps to Murder (24 page)

I dreaded the up-and-down-and-up walk, but there was no one to beam us into the houses. A few days later, when Lt. and Sgt. Huff-And-Puff arrived at and searched the two vacant houses, both houses revealed that someone had been inside recently. Each house had a mattress lying on the floor, both mattresses looked as if they had been slept on, and from the looks of things, someone had eaten in each house. There were crumbs on the floor and a small amount of trash. Could the man we found in the tunnel have stayed in either of these houses before he wandered into the tunnel and became incoherent? And if he stayed in either or both houses, did anyone know he was there?

The SOC team lingered to search for prints. The rest of us continued our search as we moved upward one floor at a time. We found nothing else in the first house, but were startled by what we found in the attic of the rental house. In an attic closet, under a couple of loose floorboards, we found a large, waterproof pouch. I donned a pair of gloves, unzipped the pouch. I let out a whistle. Inside the pouch, we found a large sum of money. George and I counted it. Eighteen thousand dollars. But whose eighteen thousand dollars, and did the money have anything to do with either murder?

We pondered what to do with the money. Should we return it and take a chance that someone might get away with stolen money? Or should we take it and possibly alert someone that we were on to him or her? Someone could have earned the money, but I had my doubts.

After careful deliberation, we called headquarters and got an okay to replace the money with marked bills of the same denominations. Hopefully, if someone had stolen the money, he or she wouldn’t realize that the bills had been switched. Because Lou and I were in much pain, George offered to go to headquarters and pick up the money. The rest of us remained behind. I contemplated walking down the stairs and reclining on the mattress until he returned, but opted to sit on the floor like everyone else.     

When George came back, the switch was made. George recommended Lou and I call it a day, and we agreed. Both of us were sore, tired, and hungry.

34

Lou and I weighed our options. Both of us agreed that it would be easier to lift a knife and fork at the Blue Moon Diner than it would be to go home and fix something, or even worse, fast until morning. So, we limped into the Blue Moon and lifted ourselves onto our customary perches. Rosie came over, handed both of us a menu with the daily specials on them. I scanned the specials, immediately decided on country fried steak. Since I’d read something about eating more fruits and vegetables, I decided to get an extra helping of mashed potatoes and gravy and ordered strawberry shortcake for dessert. Lou looked over the specials and narrowed his choices down to chicken and dumplings or meat loaf.

“Hey, Cy?”

“What, Lou?”

“You know a lot about food. Tell me, how do they make dumplings?”

“How would I know, Lou? I think they use flour and some other stuff, and somehow they cut this little square and drop it in some hot liquid.”

“Then how does it know to become a dumpling instead of paste?”

“Who knows, Lou? Maybe that’s the difference between a bad restaurant and a good restaurant.”

The thought of eating flour and some liquid helped Lou make up his mind. He opted for the meat loaf. He liked the Blue Moon’s meatloaf because they mixed ground chuck and Italian sausage, threw in a package of French onion soup mix, tomatoes in some form, and some other ingredients which he couldn’t remember. He followed my lead, selected a double helping of mashed potatoes and gravy, and topped it off with peach cobbler.

After we’d eaten, I walked over to the pay phone and called Stanley Silverman. There was no answer. I would to try again later.

+++

“What do you think, Cy?”

“About what?”

“About what’s in the coffin.”

“Well, the way things have been going for us, my guess is that it is either full of yellow raincoats or Mrs. Silverman’s inside and we find out that she died of natural causes.”       

“What if her son’s in the coffin?”

“Then, I’d say we have one less suspect.”

+++

On the way to his place, Lou talked about what he planned to do when he got home. He said he was glad he hadn’t taken up horseshoe pitching or volleyball. The way he felt, the only activity that he wanted to do was one he could do sitting still. He wasn’t sure what hurt the most; bones, muscles, or bruises. He eagerly awaited the time when his bruises went away so he could reduce his choices to two. I agreed with him.

Lou didn’t normally consider crossword or jigsaw puzzles a physical activity, but both of them were slightly more strenuous than reading. Plus, it was easier to recline and read than to recline and do either of the other two.

I laughed as Lou pictured himself lying on a chaise lounge, holding a grape in one hand, and a piece of a puzzle in the other, while someone stood over him fanning him. I let him know that I wouldn’t be the person fanning him. He laughed and said he figured that he was seeing visions like that because of his strenuous work activity and the ailments he suffered. I agreed that that was possible.

Just before we got to Lou’s place, he made up his mind to read. He told me that he was one hundred or so pages into
Wuthering Heights
. Lou asked me if I was familiar with it. He must have been tired. We’d already talked about it. I didn’t tell him the first time we talked that I’d already read it a long time ago, and I wasn’t about to tell him then. When he asked, I merely nodded my head.

I couldn’t believe we sat in front of Lou’s apartment for five minutes discussing that book. Lou asked me if I knew how the author came up with the title. I didn’t know, and I didn’t care. I just wanted to get home as quickly as possible. But he was my friend, so I let him share his thoughts about the book. Lou had read far enough that he knew that the book was named for a residence in the book, but he wondered why anyone would choose a name like that. I didn’t reply. I figured if only one of us talked, I’d get home sooner. Lou went on and said he thought wuthering sounded even worse than withering, and withering sounded like someone on the verge of death. If that was true, I think I had been one of those words for a couple of days or so.

Lou changed from wuthering and talked about cursing. Lou had already read enough to know that people cursed back then, just not as much as Holden Caulfield did. At least unlikable people used profanity, and most of the characters in
Wuthering Heights
weren’t the kind of people Lou wanted to hang out with. He toyed with whether or not he would tell anyone other than me that he was reading that book. After all, he guessed you could say it had romance, but it was not the mushy kind. At least not in the first one hundred pages. Finally, I suggested that Lou get out and go in and read his book. He must have said his peace, because he told me good night and went in.

I left Lou’s apartment and drove home. I’d already made up my mind about what I was going to do next, and it wasn’t read
Wuthering Heights.
I planned to put the phone next to the bathtub in case anyone called with information pertinent to the case, and then I aimed to soak in a tub of hot water until I turned into a prune, even if I wasn’t Danish.

I went home, prepared my bath, dropped into the tub, and lingered there with a smile on my face. Once I felt satisfied that I had more wrinkles than an octogenarian, I decided that I’d remained in the bathtub long enough. It was then time for me to enjoy my favorite form of exercise. I pulled the bathtub plug and fought the current.

Since the warm water had soothed my body aches just a trifle, I began the twelve step process needed to remove myself from the bathtub. It was on nights like this that I wished that all I had to do was push a button and rise up out of the tub. Instead, my routine was more jerky than fluid and included lots of gasps along the way.

I noticed the progress I’d made in just the previous few hours. Only that morning I’d chosen a shower rather than a bath because I felt that if I lowered my body into the tub someone would remove the bathtub ring before they could extract me.

Once I’d scaled the side of the tub, stumbled out onto the tile floor and donned my lounging clothes, I was ready to enjoy something from my video collection. I would sharpen my sleuthing skills by watching the greatest crime fighter of all time. In my mind, no one fought crime and used his deductive reasoning quite like Barney Fife. I selected an episode of
The Andy Griffith Show
in which Andy went on vacation and left Barney and Gomer in charge.

After I watched, I let my mind wander. I imagined Barney Fife on our current case. I pictured Barney trying to scale the front steps of Mrs. Nelson’s house and either shooting himself with his one bullet as he climbed the steps or arresting Officer Davis once he had survived the climb and regained consciousness.

After I watched an episode of the classic comedy, I was overcome with hunger pangs. I wasn’t about to go out, nor did I want to have something delivered. I scrounged around in the refrigerator and located some pastrami. I studied the color of the meat and deduced that it had not been in the refrigerator too long. Nothing had grown on the pastrami, nor had its color changed to dark gray or green. Besides, no food remained in
my
refrigerator long enough to go bad.

A few minutes later, armed with a pastrami on rye, with lettuce, tomato, Thousand Island dressing, and a diet soft drink to wash it down, I was once again ready for Andy and Barney. I watched four episodes, not counting the ones I slept through, and then went to bed.

As I headed to bed, the phone rang. Officer Davis called to let me know that he saw someone sneak away from one of the empty houses on Hilltop Place. Officer Davis could tell that it was a man, and the man wasn’t wearing a raincoat, but he could tell nothing else. Had someone returned to count or retrieve his or her money?

35

I had planned to sleep Friday morning until something woke me. That something was the telephone, and the someone on the other end of the phone was Officer Davis. He called to inform me that neither he nor the officer who relieved him had seen any new activity on Hilltop Place. No one other than the mysterious man he had reported had entered or left any house on the street. I asked Officer Davis to remain on duty through the weekend and report to me if anything warranted my interest. Officer Davis arranged for another officer to relieve him when needed, but he planned to do the bulk of the watch.

A few minutes after I hung up from talking to Officer Davis, the telephone rang again. It was Frank. He informed me that the coffin had been removed and, when the inspection revealed that a body was inside the coffin, the body was brought in for an autopsy. Frank told me that it was a woman’s body, and he should be able to give me an identification of the body and cause of death no later than Monday morning. Frank also told me that George had not been able to locate Mrs. Reynolds or her son.

I hung up the phone and lay in bed pondering my next move. I called Dr. Muriel Davenport and found out that there was no difference in Don Hampton’s condition. The homeless man was not yet capable of answering questions.

My fourth phone call was one I made to Sam Schumann.

“Glad you called, Cy.”

“I just called to see what you found out about Irene Penrod.”

“She’s a blueblood, Cy. The Penrod name comes with lots of money and connections. Either because of it or in spite of it, our girl Irene got in lots of scrapes growing up. Having money and connections got her out of most of them. Also, she usually comes across as a calm person, but she has quite a temper when cornered. I’m not sure what, but she did something in college that was against the rules. Another co-ed found out about it and told on her. When Irene found out, she promised to get even with that girl. From what I can gather, she made good on her promise. I’m still checking, but rumors are Irene must’ve squandered some of her money. She doesn’t appear to be as wealthy today, and her family is in no hurry to bail her out this time.

“One of Irene’s neighbors tells me she’s quite a liar. She said one time, when Irene talked about visiting friends in The Hamptons, she, the neighbor, spotted Irene filling her gas tank near a Hampton Inn only twenty miles from her home. The curious neighbor followed Irene to a ramshackle motor lodge that seldom has guests return for a second stay.”

News of Irene Penrod made me wonder where she had disappeared to. Did she murder her next-door neighbors and then vanish, or was her disappearance merely a coincidence?

“Anything else you have for me, Sam?”

“Just one thing, Cy. Mr. Hartley, the mailman, is the one who rented that house on Hilltop, and it’s his fingerprints on that equipment you found under that house.”

“The mailman? So that’s why he’s been sneaking around on Hilltop Place in the middle of the night. But why would he rent it? He’s not living in it, is he?”

“No, he’s still living with his wife. No one knows for sure why he rented the place, but there’s that rumor about treasure being buried somewhere under Hilltop Place. Remember, he said he would have the last laugh on those people.”

“Thanks, Sam, for making my job easier and more difficult at the same time.”

Sam laughed, and we hung up.

I checked off another item from my list and dialed Lou’s number.

“Murdock here.”

“My biological clock is ticking.”

“What are you trying to tell me, Cy? Are you telling me you plan to marry and settle down and have children at your age?”

“No, dum-dum. I’m telling you that my stomach has been growling.”

“Then, why didn’t you say your gastrointestinal clock?”

“Just the thought of that word takes away my appetite.”

“You don’t really mean that, do you?”

“No, Lou, but it does turn my stomach.”

“Just so it turns it empty side up.”