by Tracey Quinn
“You've got to be kidding!” I cried. “Even if you think Gene was mad enough to kill Lloyd, you can't possibly believe he robbed the Farnsworth Bank! Whoever killed Lloyd is trying to frame Gene! Isn't it obvious?”
“Maybe Gene went to the rec center to confront Lloyd and walked in on him breaking into the bank vault. Perhaps Lloyd was the one with the gun and it went off as they fought over it; it could have happened, Dani.”
“And then Gene dragged Lloyd's body back to his own market and tossed him in the onion bin? Why are you so quick to clap Gene in irons when there were plenty of other people who wanted Lloyd dead?!”
“Dani-”
“Did you even talk to Maurice Sharp from the glove factory? Lloyd stole $15,000 from him and he's hated him ever since! He even went to one of Lloyd's 'Courage' lectures and threatened him!”
“And just how do you know that?” Bob asked. “Have you been snooping around again? Dani, how many times have I told you to leave the police work to the police!”
“Don't change the subject,” I said. “If you want to do police work so much, then go arrest Maurice Sharp!”
“Arrest him for what? Not being Gene McGee?”
“Don't be so clever,” I snapped. Just then I remembered something Maurice Sharp had said. “And what about the guy Lloyd killed six years ago? I'll bet he had a family, and they wouldn't be members of the Lloyd Duval Fan Club! They've probably been waiting for the day when Lloyd would get out of prison so they could get their hands on him!”
“You know, sis, it takes more than your imagination to make a case against someone. Besides, I don't think Troy Belcher was much of a family man. Look, we're still investigating and I promise we'll check out every angle; just stay out of it, okay?”
“Who did you say? Belcher?”
“Troy Belcher; that's the guy Duval killed in that bar fight six years ago.”
“Oh, okay. Well, goodbye then.”
“Wait, why did you ask? Do you know something you're not telling me? You're going to go playing detective, aren't you?”
“I can't stay here talking all day; I have to finish setting up my booth,” I said. “Don't keep calling me like this while I'm working.”
As I hung up I was thinking about the grizzly bear with bad manners who had come into the Breezy Spoon the day before Lloyd Duval was killed. “Belcher's Towing”; that's what it said on his overalls. Could he be Troy Belcher's brother or maybe a cousin? It could just be coincidence, but Belcher isn't a very common name and not 24 hours after he shows up in town Lloyd Duval takes a nap under 50 pounds of onions. That didn't sound very coincidental to me.
I could have told Bob about Belcher, but I didn't think he'd be too impressed by my story, even if I pointed out that Belcher took four sugars in his coffee, which is something only a dangerously insane person would do. First I'd need to find out for sure if he was related to the man Lloyd killed.
Just then there came a knock on my window and I looked up to see Mark waving to me. As I opened the car door he said, “I stopped by the booth to see how you were doing, and Brendan told me that you heard Gene McGee was arrested and you went to your car to get your deerstalker hat and junior detective kit.”
“Very funny. Tell Brendan that he should be a stand-up comedian when he grows up.”
“So you think Gene McGee is innocent?”
“I know he's innocent; he's being framed.”
“I'm with you on that. I believe the real killer is setting him up. That's probably why the body was left at McGee's Market in the first place.”
“Really? You mean it?”
“Yes, and I also believe the real killer wouldn't think twice about killing an amateur detective, so you should stick to setting up your booth and let the sheriff handle the investigation.”
“For a minute there I thought you were actually being sweet,” I grumbled.
“Not wanting to see you murdered seems pretty sweet, but if that's not good enough for you, I'll go even further and hang your ridiculously heavy menu board up on the booth for you.”
“Oh, I love you, Mark!”
“That's understandable,” he replied. “Shockingly handsome, hot bod, charming, witty, intelligent, charges reasonable rent, regularly risks tetanus by changing the oil in your rusty Firebird, willing to keep you from being lonely by snuggling and talking about feelings; what's not to love?”
“And incredibly conceited. Is it too late for a do-over?”
“Absolutely.”
Brendan was grinning. “So you really like to talk about feelings, do you, Mark?”
“Sure do. Like, I'm feeling hungry, do you have anything I can eat that isn't salad? Or, I'm feeling bored, why don't we switch to the football game instead of watching this cheating husband chick flick? I'm a caring, sensitive guy. You know that, Brendan.”
“I do know that about you. At the softball game last Saturday when you slid into home plate cleats first and ran into the catcher, you apologized and bought him a beer later on. You're a thoughtful person, yes, you are.”
“This is true. And anyone who thought I was just getting back at the guy because the last time I slid into home head first he smacked me in the head with the ball so hard that he almost knocked me out, well, that person would just be wrong. I not only bought him a beer afterward, but I went up to the counter to get it for him because he was limping so badly.”
“You're an inspiration to us all. I hope the SOB choked on it.”
“Actually he did. I bought him one of those craft beers that was grapefruit flavored.”
Brendan raised his hand. “Hit 'em high, buddy!” he said and the little boy-men did high fives and chest bumps while I struggled to put the menu board up on the booth by myself.
That evening when I was on my way home, I decided to stop at Gene and Laurie McGee's house and see how Kitty and Laurie were holding up. Gene's arrest was surely putting a lot of stress on both of them, and that made me even more determined to find the real killer, and fast. When I reached the house I saw my best friend Tammy's car in the driveway. Either she had heard about the arrest from Brendan or the gossip mill had made its way around to her bakery, but either way I was glad to see that Kitty and Laurie weren't alone.
Tammy opened the door when I rang the bell. “How are Laurie and Kitty doing?” I asked.
“About as well as can be expected,” Tammy sighed. “Come on in.”
Laurie and Kitty were sitting in the living room, and I could tell that they had both been crying. The aroma of spaghetti sauce and baking bread was wafting in from the kitchen where it looked like Tammy was cooking dinner. I sat down next to Laurie on the sofa and gave her a hug.
“I'm so sorry,” I said.
“How could anyone think Gene is a murderer?” Laurie cried.
“Someone's framing him. Whoever really killed Lloyd is working to set Gene up to take the blame.”
“But why? Why Gene?”
“They must have known how much Gene hated Lloyd. He did threaten to kill him in front of the crowd at the Breezy Spoon. I'm sure a lot of people heard about that.” As I was speaking, I remembered the man in the Belcher's Towing overalls again; he had been there that morning! He would have heard what Gene had said. I turned to Kitty. “Kitty, do you know anything about the man Lloyd killed six years ago? I think his name was Troy Belcher.”
“Not much,” Kitty replied. “I don't think he was someone Lloyd knew; they just got into a brawl in a bar and Lloyd took things too far like he always did. Why? Do you think there's a connection to what happened to Lloyd?”
“I don't know yet; do you know if Troy Belcher had any family around here? Maybe a brother?”
“He did have a brother,” Laurie cut in. “I remember him. He came to the house while Kitty was in the hospital giving birth to Timmy. Kitty's parents were at the hospital too, and I was at the house alone tidying it up so that it would be nice when they came back with the baby. They had left early in the morning and we h
adn't heard about Lloyd getting arrested the night before yet. Suddenly I heard this pounding on the door and someone was shouting. I peeked through the blinds and saw him. He was like....” She gave a shudder.
“Like a grizzly bear in overalls?” I asked.
“Yes, that sums him up perfectly! Have you seen him then?”
“He was at the Breezy Spoon the morning before Lloyd was killed. He seemed like the kind of guy that might be capable of violence.”
“You're right about that,” Laurie agreed. “I remember the way he was beating on the door and shouting for Lloyd to come out. He was saying he'd kill him. I was pretty frightened and I started to call the police, but then the sheriff's car pulled up out in front of the house. The deputies made the man leave, and then they knocked on the door. That was when I learned that Lloyd was under arrest for killing a man in a bar, and the deputies told me that the man at the door was the dead man's brother.”
“If he's back in town then me might have been looking for Lloyd again,” Kitty said. “Do you think he could have killed him?”
“It's possible,” I replied. “I'd like to talk to him and see what I can find out about him.”
“Or you could tell Bob about him,” Tammy said. “That way the sheriff could talk to him, and that's probably the safest way to handle this.”
“Oh, I've already talked to Bob; they're going to 'check out every angle',” I grumbled. “He wasn't too interested in my theories.”
“I still don't like the idea of you talking to this Belcher person; if he's a killer, he won't be happy to be questioned about the murder, and that could be dangerous for you.”
“Yes, you should stay away from him,” Laurie agreed. “I don't want you to get yourself hurt trying to help Gene.”
“Don't worry about me,” I said. “I know what I'm doing.” I could have added, “Also I have no idea of where to find Belcher, and I don't even know if he's still in town,” but I thought it might make the part where I said I know what I'm doing sound less convincing.
On my way home, my cellphone rang and I saw that it was Mark. When I answered he said, “Hey, babe. I got a call from the firehouse that someone reported a fire at one of the houses by the lake, so I won't be home when you get there.”
“I'm surprised I haven't gotten a call from Charlene yet telling me that the lake monster has started breathing fire.”
“Give it time. Charlene never lets us down. Anyway, I wanted to tell you not to worry about the bullet hole in the mailbox.”
“Wait, what? There's a bullet hole in the mailbox?!”
“Yeah, Alistair Coleman shot it from his upstairs window across the street. His older brother Clarence said that since Alistair has turned 88 he sometimes gets reckless. It seems that in the wee hours of the morning Alistair heard some sounds outside and when he went out to see what it was he saw a raccoon trying to get into their trash bin. He said it was foaming at the mouth so he's sure it was rabid. Since it was eating the garbage it's more likely that it had food around its mouth, but either way, Alistair got his shotgun and has been watching from his window to shoot it if it comes back. Apparently he dozed off after a couple of hours but a hissing sound woke him up and when he looked out the window he thought he saw the raccoon on top of our mailbox so he shot at it.”
“The raccoon was on top of our mailbox and it was hissing so loudly that Alistair could hear him inside his house across the street?” I asked.
“No, the hissing was a tea kettle,” Mark replied. “Clarence was making tea. Green tea with lemon and ginseng, I think he said. Good for energy or something like that.”
“Well, at least Alistair got rid of the rabid raccoon.”
“Actually there was no sign that he shot anything other than the mailbox. He said he'll pay for a new one once he gets down to the bank on Monday. Oh, and also the Jameson sisters stopped by to visit and talk; I told them I had to leave but you'd be home soon so they'll be waiting for you. Love you! Bye!”
“Mark! Wait!” It was too late. The dirty weasel had hung up the phone.
Heather and Helen Jameson are our next-door neighbors; they're sweet old ladies but they can talk the ears off an elephant. Even with all the competition in town, the Jameson sisters hold the title for the biggest gossips in East Spoon Creek City. They even used to babysit Charlene when she was little, and taught her everything they knew.
I had planned to search online for information about Troy Belcher's brother when I got home, but thanks to Mark palming Helen and Heather off on me, it would have to wait. It's a good thing for him that he wasn't going to be there. He might have ended up in an onion crate.
Chapter 7
As soon as I got in the front door I could see that the Jameson sisters had wasted no time making themselves at home. A pot of tea had been brewed and was sitting on the coffee table alongside some little homemade candies they had brought with them, which looked like they were covered in either molasses or motor oil.
“I'm glad to see that you made it home in one piece,” Helen said to me. At least, I think it was Helen; the sisters are twins and I've never quite been able to tell them apart. “One never knows what will happen, what with all the violence in town nowadays.”
“Well Helen, Dani knows it all too well, seeing as she's been a victim of the crime wave herself,” Heather said.
“I don't think Alistair shooting the mailbox counts as a crime wave,” I said.
“It's just the latest in a long line,” Helen replied. “First that nice Dr. Griffin had his bumper all dented in by a hit and run driver, and then the bank was robbed, and of course there was that poor man who was murdered. One doesn't feel safe walking down the street anymore!”
I thought that the chances of the person who robbed the bank and killed Lloyd Duval hanging around our street to take potshots at old ladies was pretty slim, but I supposed it was best not to say that. Instead I said, “Oh, look at the time. It's getting late. I'd hate to have you ladies walk home after dark seeing as there's all this crime around. Maybe we should take up this conversation on another day.”
“Oh, don't worry about that,” Heather said. “It's perfectly safe in here. This house used to be a safe house for the government. Did I ever tell you the story about that?”
Oh well, it was worth a try. Fortunately I was saved from hearing the safe house story for the tenth time by Helen, who said, “You know, that young man who was killed was going to run for mayor. We could use a new mayor in this town if you ask me; someone needs to do something about all this crime!”
“Well, now that Mayor Pumphrey's wife is back in town, maybe he won't be as 'distracted' with other matters, if you know what I mean,” Heather said, with a knowing glance toward me.
Actually, I didn't know what she meant at all. “What makes you say that?” I asked.
“You know what they say: 'when the cat's away, the mice will play,' and while Velma's been away, it seems that Mayor Pumprey has been doing a little playing. Tabitha was looking out her window-”
“You know Tabitha from the Needlework Club,” Helen cut in. “She lives right across the street from the Pumphreys. Well, just the other night-”
“This was the night that the poor young man was killed,” Heather interjected. “Tabitha was just getting ready to go to bed when she heard a car honk outside. Well, she went to see what was going on and there she sees Howard Pumphrey driving away from his house.”
“Howard is always honking his horn with his stomach by accident when he gets into his car, on account of him being a bit husky around the middle,” Helen added. “Now Tabitha saw that he left the front door of his house open and the light on; you know how forgetful Howard can be.”
“Of course, this was after eight o'clock in the evening and Tabitha naturally thought Howard must be running a little errand and he'd come back soon, so there was no reason to bother about the door and the light,” Heather continued. “But then when she got up in the morning, what does she see but the
door is still open and the light is still on!”
“He was out all night,” Helen said in a conspiratorial whisper, leaning close to me.
“Do you know where he went?” I asked.
“Well, Tabitha couldn't ask him, of course, but it's clear enough what was going on.”
Or maybe not, I thought. If Mayor Pumphrey was away from his house all night on the night Lloyd Duval was killed, he might have had a very different reason than the one the Jameson sisters had imagined. Maybe he knew like the rest of us that he was no match for Lloyd Duval in a debate and his fear of losing his office was enough to drive him to do something crazy. Or perhaps the scenario that Bob suggested was right, only it was Mayor Pumphrey, not Gene, who had gone to the rec center to confront Lloyd, only to find him breaking into the bank vault and the struggle over a gun had turned deadly. Whatever the case, I had some questions I wanted to ask the mayor!
Early the next morning I got into the Firebird and headed for the highway. It had taken me over an hour last night to finally extract myself from the clutches of the Jameson sisters, and I was almost nodding off to sleep by the time I sat down in front of my computer to search for information about Belcher.
I might just as well have fallen asleep, for I didn't find much of use; aside from a bunch of old articles from six years ago about Troy Belcher getting killed in the bar fight, there was no info about anyone named Belcher still living in the area. Either his brother hadn't done anything that Google found interesting enough to share with me, or he had moved somewhere else after Troy's death.
The fair was opening today and I had to work at the booth this morning, but first I was planning to swing by the Happy Rest Motor Lodge, a nice motel along the highway at the end of Old Bucket Road. It belonged to a friend of mine named Nick Havers, and it hadn't always been so nice; before Nick bought it the motel belonged to his wife's uncle Elmore. Elmore had named the hotel The Dry Bed Motel because of the dry creek bed behind the place (he thought it was funny), and had run the business into the ground over the years. The Dry Bed became notorious as a hangout for drunks, drug addicts, prostitutes and every sort of unsavory character that passed along the highway.
