Read Clint Faraday Mysteries collection A Muddled Murders Collector's Edition Online
Authors: CD Moulton
Tags: #adventure, #murder, #mystery, #detective, #clint faraday
They talked about such things until late,
then broke it up and went to their various homes.
Amanda was to go to the states tomorrow.
“
She was
put in a cell where a psychiatrist was to talk with her in the
morning,” Sergio reported. “She said she was obviously crazy. Why
bother?
“
They
don’t know how she got the stuff or how she managed to get it into
the cell. Curare. She inserted it with a little piece of wire and
was dead in seconds. She left a note addressed to you, Clint.
Here’s a fax of it.” He handed Clint a sheet of paper. He went to
the light to read it.
I HATE having to wear reading glasses.
Well, he thought she might try to suicide.
The game was over and there wasn’t anything else she needed to
accomplish. Half or better of her life was dedicated to what she’d
done since just before her father died.
“
Do you
think she told you how she did it? Suicided?” Sergio asked. “I’d
think she would leave you a clue no one else would see.
“
I think
it has something to do with the Creamsickle, personally. I just
don’t know how she got anyone to bring it to her.”
Clint didn’t know what he was talking about.
He hadn’t read the note yet.
He found the glasses and put them on to read
in her careful script:
Hi, Clint –
Well, the game’s over. We both won in
different ways. I won the “attainment of plan” category and you won
the “catch her” category. I’m more than satisfied with that.
I want you to know that I always considered
you a very intelligent person. I knew the chances were that you
would be able to stop me before I finished what I started out to
do. Crazy or not, you have to admit that the world’s a better place
with most of them gone. It will be a better place when I’m gone,
too, I suppose.
I just got a friend to bring me a
Creamsickle. I always have loved them and haven’t seen them much in
the past few years. I had some in the ‘Fridge at the ranch and she
brought me a couple of them.
Well, this is goodbye. It was a great game.
I’m glad we can both claim a victory. I do like and respect
you.
Bye! – Amanda
He put the note down and said, “She had it
delivered by using her talent to make people like her. Who was the
one who brought her the ice cream?”
“
Some
girl who was raised on the ranch. About twenty five years old. They
were friends for a long time,” Sergio answered.
“
They
also probably shared some things that kept them close,” Clint
explained. “Things like the sexual abuse by the owner of the ranch
and possibly also by his horse trainer. They bonded a long time ago
and the girl might have had hints that Amanda would get even for
both of them.
“
Let it
go.”
“
I damned
well will!” Sergio exclaimed.
“
... so
she suicided. It was her way of saying she did exactly what she set
out to do and didn’t want to fight the inevitable results of that,”
Clint explained to Judi. It was just at nightfall and they were in
the Pirate to order a delicious meal. The breeze was light and
pleasant so they were on the outer deck.
“
She was
... so strange,” Judi said. “You almost had to like her, but I
never really trusted her. I saw something that wasn’t quite
right.”
“
Not
quite right? THAT’S an understatement if I ever heard one. She
didn’t show me that to any extent. It was later when I looked back
when I saw the clues to what she would become. The lack of reaction
when her father was killed made me see something wasn’t on
line.”
“
I wasn’t
there for that, but I was there when she was saying how glad she
was that the old bastard had bought it. She was also the only one
who didn’t seem to even care that Donald was dead. She said she was
just a little sad about that.”
“
She was
furious with him for killing her father before she could do some of
the things she did to Frank Lindsay on him.”
They were starting to order when a group went
to the long reserved table. There were assorted younger people and
a sour-looking older woman who was saying, “I’m almost sorry I
brought you on this trip! I give you the only chance you bunch of
lazy wastrels will ever have to go anywhere and all you do is whine
at me! Well, one more word and I’ll see you cut off! Is that
clear?”
“
Oh, Mom,
put a cork in it!” a younger woman said. “We always end up in a
stupid fight anywhere we go. It’s downright embarrassing when you
start the shit! You just want to control our lives!”
Clint suddenly stood and said, “Let’s
go!”
“
What in
the world?!” Judy cried.
He stalked out, she followed.
“
Clint!
What...?”
“
Enough
already!” he spat back.
Judi didn’t know what was happening.
Of course, she wasn’t there when a like group
came in to sit at that table and argue.
Clint Faraday Mysteries # 4
Shortcuts
10 shorts
Collector’s edition
© 2009 by C. D. Moulton
all rights reserved: no part of this
publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any
means, either electronic or mechanical, including photocopy,
recording, or any other information retrieval system, without
permission in writing from the copyright holder/publisher, except
in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or
reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblances
to persons, living or dead, or events is purely coincidental unless
otherwise stated.
Contents
3
Oye!
10
Doormat
Breakfast
Call
Clint Faraday took his coffee out onto the
deck of his home near Saigon Bay and waved at Judi Lum, his
nextdoor neighbor. She waved back and wagged a finger at him in
their regular ritual. He didn’t often bother to wear anything when
he first got up in the mornings until he decided what he was going
to do.
Judi was a very attractive woman originally
from Taiwan. They had been close friends ever since he moved to
Panamá. She helped him with his cases at times. He had retired from
the PI business in Florida when he moved to Panamá and was now
involved with a number of cases here. He worked with the local
police on murders of the types they never had before the tourist
influx of the past several years. He worked most often with Cpt.
Sergio Valdez of the violent crimes division.
Panamanians are generally not violent people.
It’s the tourists and residents from other places that tend to get
into such situations.
Jorge Sanchez went by in his cayuga. No
passengers, so he would be out for lobster today. He waved and
called, “Co coin dega!” (It’s a great day!) to Clint and Judi, who
returned the greeting.
Clint was learning the local Indio dialect
and was teaching them English in return. His Spanish is what he
calls, “Practical, not grammatical.” He is conversational, but not
grammatically correct.
He would go fishing. It really was a
beautiful day. He might even find Jorge and dive for a lobster or
two for the freezer.
His cellular buzzed. He debated answering
until he read the ID on the screen, then answered, “Yo, Serg-io!
Wa-aping?” (Wadi-wadi for “que pasa?”)
“
Clint, I
hate to call you this early, but can you come to the Hotel
Crawnshaw? There’s been a murder – I think. It looks
contrived.”
“
Where in
hell is the Hotel Crawnshaw?”
“
It’s a
block or two before Mondo Taitu. One of those big older houses that
were converted into what we used to call a rooming
house.”
“
Oh.
Canary-shit yellow place?”
“
Uh-huh.”
“
Be there
in ten.”
“
Thanks,
Clint.”
“
Name’s
Walter Wycoff. Holycalm, Missouri. Booked in day before yesterday
with a bunch of family and a couple of friends. Have the whole
hotel for the entire week,” Sergio explained. “Marilyn Crawnshaw
owns the place. He left a breakfast call for six thirty, she
knocked on the door and got no answer, tried again, no answer,
tried the passkey, but the deadbolt was on, went around to the
porch side and tried that door, deadbolted.
“
She got
Mauricio, the Indio kid there, to go in the window. He had to break
a pane to unlock it. This is what he found. All he did was unlock
the door, then got out of there. Marilyn didn’t let anyone go in
until Doc and I got here.”
Doc is Dr. Astrades, the local ME.
They went into the room. Doc was working over
a very large man on the bed. He said the guy was smothered, but
there were signs he had a bad heart. That may be the actual cause
of death, but the attack was brought on by someone trying to
smother him.
“
He was
smothered in a locked room?” Clint said. “Shades of John Dickson
Carr! This one might be weird!
“
Who are
the suspects?” He was inspecting the room carefully. He noted the
heavy deadbolts, the small self-locking windows either side of the
door to the porch, the way the bed sat against the wall, the
writing desk, the small lamp on the end table was on, the room
air-conditioner in the second window, the armoire That the fan was
running. Everything. “And is anything changed? Lights, AC,
etc.?”
“
Anyone
here between, say, two thirty and three thirty?” Doc answered. “I
can get more exact, but that’ll be when it was done. We didn’t
change anything. AC wasn’t on, the fan was.”
“
Security
gates locked at the time?”
“
They’re
locked at dark every day,” Marilyn said. “The tenants have a key,
but it rings a bell inside my room so I know no one came or went
from about nine until we found him.”
Clint took a few minutes to go around the
entire property. There was no way anyone could have come in from
outside. The place was secure.
He went back in to tell Sergio. “Okay. I have
to talk with everyone here. The killer is staying in this
hotel.
“
How
many?”
“
Eight,
besides him. Two friends and six family. They’re down in the dining
room having coffee.”
Clint nodded and went down to the dining area
to meet the suspects:
Bobby Wycoff, 28 years, five nine. A hundred
eighty pounds, sandy brownish hair a little long, brooding
personality.
Wilma Wycoff, 24 years, five six, 140 pounds,
same type of sandy brownish hair, a bit too bubbly for Clint’s
taste. She was immediately flirting with him.
Lily Wycoff, 22 years, five seven, 140
pounds, same hair, a bit snobbish.
John Wycoff, five eleven, 135 pounds, ditto,
skinny computer nerd type.
Ellen Wycoff, 20 years, five ten, 145 pounds,
ditto. A bit reserved, but not snobbish.
Arthur Wycoff, 18 years, six feet, 185
pounds, ditto. Sullen teenager at an age he should have outgrown
it.
Bill Handley, 42 years, five nine, 180
pounds, somewhat ruddy complexion, dark nutbrown short hair,
overly-curious, trying to be “cool,” computer nerd type. Friend of
John.
Gladys Anne Fallsy, 25 years, 140 pounds,
long bleached-blond hair, subdued, friend of Lily.
The hotel had eight rooms. Everyone except
Lily and Gladys had a private room. There was a bath at either end
of the hallway. The rooms were on the second floor with the
kitchen, laundry and so forth on the bottom floor. Marilyn’s rooms
were in front on one side of the entrance with a large
lobby/sitting room on the other side.
Clint looked the setup over, went through the
neat clean kitchen, then returned to the murder room where Sergio
asked if he knew who did it yet. It was meant as a joke, but Clint
said it was rather obvious. He only had to try to find the
motive.
Sergio didn’t know if he was serious. He
was.
“
Bobby,
I’m Clint Faraday. I assist the police in certain types of crimes.
I have to know some background.
“
How did
you get along with your father?”
“
Pretty
good most of the time. He could be strict and more than a little
obstinate. When he got an idea in his head there wasn’t anything
known to man that would change it. It was mostly about morals and
that kind of thing so we all know how to stay away from anything
that might set him off. He was generous and tight at the same time.
He paid for a vacation in a new place every year, but he wouldn’t
spend anything over the basic rooms and food.
“
None of
us are hurting. It was still a pretty cheap vacation for all of us.
We all get along Okay. If we invite friends we have to pay for
them.
“
He was a
bit of a stickler about booze and sex. The rule was not much to
drink and sex was out if we didn’t keep it a secret from him. He
was willing to see and hear no evil – from the men. The women,
totally off-limits. Period. Next case. You WILL be a virgin when
you marry.”