A Hopeless Discovery

by Daniel Carson

  I approached the counter. “Thank you, Nick.”

  “For what?”

  “For making a great cup of coffee.”

  “Is something wrong? You usually yell at me and act all hormonal.”

  I pinched myself so that I wouldn’t lose control. “Nothing’s wrong, Nick. It just occurred to me that I’ve never told you that before.”

  Nick still looked confused. Maybe even a little nervous.

  I turned my phone around and showed the sketch to Nick.

  He leaned forward. “What’s this?”

  “An illustration of a woman who’s been around town lately. You seen her?”

  Nick squinted, then looked up. “Yeah, she’s hot, so I definitely remember her.”

  “You’re saying you remember her coffee order, or you actually remember her?”

  “I remember her for sure. She’s smoking hot.”

  “How many times has she been in?”

  “Just once, a couple days ago.”

  “You don’t by chance remember her name, do—”

  “Ms. Jones.”

  “Let me get this straight. I’ve been in here sixty times and you still call me ‘old lady’… yet this woman comes in one time, and you remember her name?”

  “Dude, like I told you, she’s hot.”

  If Nick the barista ever ended up dead, I’d probably have to confess based on the number of times I’d wished him harm.

  “Nick, I’m working with the sheriff on a very important investigation. I’m going to leave you my number. Please do me a favor and text me if this woman comes in here again.”

  I wrote my number on a napkin and handed it across the counter.

  “You’re not going to arrest her, are you?”

  “Of course not, Nick. I just want to speak with her. And don’t worry. We only arrest the ugly people.”

  Nick smiled.

  “And the really dumb ones,” I said as I walked away.

  I drove back to my apartment above the Library, took a shower, put my hair into a ponytail, then put on my uniform for the day. Black jeans, a simple gray top, and my brown leather jacket.

  When I checked my phone again, Katie had blown it up with texts.

  Arrested?

  You PUNCHED Gemima?

  Are you alive?

  Do you need alcohol?

  I’m still mad about the dead arm thing.

  It really is a pretty cute story. The kids made me tell them last night.

  How did it feel to punch Gemima?

  Wait, you were on a date with Alex?

  Call me NOW or Gemima is my new best friend!

  I laughed as I read through them all. Leave it to Katie to make me smile about all of this.

  I went downstairs and pulled out the phone book that Granny still kept under the bar. I flipped through until I found Driscoll. Bonnie Driscoll. That had to be Johnny’s mother; Flo had mentioned that he still lived with her. I wanted to catch him before he went into work today.

  The Driscolls lived in a mid-century ranch on the other side of Hopeless. It looked unkept on the outside, the way houses do after a few years of neglect. I saw lights on in the kitchen, so I knocked on the front door and waited.

  A woman in her mid-fifties answered the door in a bathrobe, with a mug of coffee in her hand and a bewildered expression on her face.

  “May I help you?”

  “Hi, Mrs. Driscoll, my name is Hope Walker. You might know my Granny who owns the Library.”

  “I know Granny. You belong to her?”

  “I do indeed. Anyways, I’m working for Earl Denton at the newspaper, and we’re doing an article about Wanda Wegman.”

  “Such a shame what happened.”

  “I understand your son worked with her, so I was hoping I could ask him some questions.”

  “Yes, Johnny knew her. He’s eating his waffles right now. He likes Eggos. Nothing but Eggos. Always gets mad when I buy the Walmart brand. ‘Has to be Eggos, Mama,’ he says. That boy is particular about his waffles.” Her eyes went elsewhere and her mind seemed to drift off.

  “Mrs. Driscoll?”

  She snapped back to attention. “Yes, dear?”

  “Johnny, is he available to speak?”

  “I’ll see if he’s finished with his waffles.”

  As Mrs. Driscoll stepped back into the house, I wondered about the Driscoll family. It appeared there was no Mr. Driscoll in the picture, that Mrs. Driscoll was a little off, and that her son Johnny wanted people to leggo his Eggo.

  These were the facts of the case. Hard to believe I was once a big-city reporter.

  A young man approached the door with the same apprehension as his mother. “Are you the lady the sheriff said would be asking questions?”

  “I am. Hope Walker’s the name.”

  “Can we go someplace else? I don’t like to bother Mother with my business.”

  “We can talk out here?”

  He stepped onto the front stoop and walked right past me. “Let’s talk in the garage.”

  Now I was the tentative one. I cautiously followed Johnny to a detached garage behind his mother’s home. An old broken-down basketball hoop hung above a large garage door, but Johnny unlocked a separate door to the side, then entered. When I hesitated to go in after him, his head popped back out.

  “You coming?”

  I wished I had a Walmart-brand waffle with me just in case he tried something. But I’d probably seen worse, so I paused for a beat, then I took the red pill.

  To say the inside of the garage was different from the outside would be a huge understatement. This place was like some crazy computer laboratory. Work tables lined three walls, and they were covered in computers and tools and electronic gadgets. And right in the center of the garage was some sort of robot.

  “I assume you’ve been to Johnny’s Corner?” he asked with great pride.

  “Been gone from Hopeless for years. First time back at the patch was on Saturday.”

  “And you didn’t visit Johnny’s Corner?”

  “Sorry. Wanda’s World is pretty much the only thing I remembered.”

  Johnny gave me a look of disgust. “Why is it so hard for people to let go of the past? I get it—she made a scrap-metal dragon that crushes pumpkins. It’s really not that cool.”

  “My granny would always make us sit close enough so the pumpkin juice would spray all over us.”

  “That’s not cool. That’s just gross!”

  “To a little kid, those can be the same thing.”

  “Nonsense. We live in a computer age, and kids like computers. It’s the parents who hold them back. You want to see something cool?”

  “Sure,” I said. I was hoping that “something cool” didn’t mean “a dead body I’ve been keeping in the freezer.”

  He picked up a tablet and hit a couple buttons, and his robot came to life. It rolled forward on wheels until it came to a huge block of wood that had apparently been put there to serve as an obstacle. It bent over, its two arms came down, and it lifted itself over the wood. Then it continued.

  “Pretty cool,” I said.

  “‘Pretty cool’? Are you insane? Do you have any idea how much computing power is required to do what this robot just did?”

  “More than it takes to toast an Eggo waffle?”

  “Was that a joke? That was a joke, right?”

  “Listen, Johnny. Sheriff Kramer and I are interviewing everyone who knew Wanda well.”

  “Because you think that with a few chats, you’ll magically be able to solve her murder. Well, I hate to break it to you, but you won’t.”

  “And why’s that?”

  He smiled. “Because whoever killed her isn’t going to tell you. No matter how many questions you ask. And without a confession, you’ll never catch the guy.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Listen, lady, I’m not a dummy—as you can plainly see. Wanda ran off three years ago. If the murder took place then, there can’t
be much evidence left that could tie the murderer to her. You don’t even know what day she was murdered, so you can’t check alibis. You’re out of luck.”

  “Did you hear how she was murdered?” I asked.

  “Sheriff said she was stabbed.”

  “And are you sorry she’s dead?”

  He rolled his eyes. “As I’m sure other people have told you, Wanda and I argued. A lot. Wanda argued with everybody. I wasn’t sad to see her leave the pumpkin patch.”

  “But are you sad that she’s dead?”

  “To be honest, not really. I mean, I’m sorry she got killed. But it doesn’t really make me sad.”

  “Isn’t that a little harsh?”

  He shrugged.

  “You say you and Wanda argued a lot. About what?”

  “Haven’t you been listening, lady? Wanda was an antique, and I’m the new Tesla sports car. That’s what we argued about.”

  “Did you ever want to hurt her?”

  “Now you’re just insulting me.”

  “Can you think of anybody who did want to hurt her?”

  He rolled his eyes again. “Nobody that works at the pumpkin patch.”

  “What about Kip Granger?”

  “What, because the body was found in the field and he’s the farmer? I call that intellectual laziness. Try harder.”

  “Okay, Johnny, let’s try a different approach. As you’ve pointed out, you are clearly smarter than me. I couldn’t dream of doing what you’ve done here in a thousand years.”

  “How about a million?”

  “So you’re much smarter than me. In that case, maybe you can put that intellect to use. Let’s say you were in charge of the investigation. What would you do? What would you focus on? Where would you look?”

  Johnny looked thoroughly annoyed. Then he rubbed his hand across his jaw. “Talking to people isn’t really my strong suit.”

  “You don’t say.”

  “I’m a scientist. I like science. If it were me, I would focus on the only piece of physical evidence you have.”

  “The body?”

  He shook his head. “Rumor is, you have the murder weapon.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Katie called as I was heading out to Mr. Clowder’s place.

  “I sent you a thousand text messages!”

  “You sent me nine.”

  “Which might as well be a thousand after the news I heard. You got arrested? You punched Gemima? You were on a date with Alex?”

  “And I really don’t want to talk about any of it.”

  “And I really didn’t want to push Dominic’s head out of my yoohoo, but I didn’t have a choice.”

  “This isn’t anything like that.”

  “Hope! My son found a dead woman’s arm while I was on a romantic getaway where my husband became incapacitated from IPAs. You gotta work with me here.”

  “I woke up early, I bought my coffee, I even took a shower. And now I’m working. That’s what I’m going to do now. Work.”

  “And how long do you plan on working?”

  “For the next ten years of my life.”

  “I was afraid of that.”

  “I don’t want to talk about this.”

  “I know. How about you push it all deep inside you, then don’t talk about it for the next twelve years?”

  “You’re a butthead.”

  “But I’m your butthead.”

  “I’m angry, Katie.”

  “At Alex?”

  “Yes. And at Gemima. And at myself. Mostly at myself.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I like him,” I said.

  “You do, don’t you?”

  “I did until last night.”

  “You do realize Gemima’s the one who kissed him, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you know she only did it for one reason, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  “He arrested me, Katie! He had a chance to stand up for me in front of the whole town, and he didn’t.”

  “Think you can forgive him?”

  “I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

  “Think you can stop by tonight and tell the children a story? They miss you.”

  “Do they really miss me, or is it just nice to have somebody else put your children to bed for you?”

  “A new Bachelor in Buffalo airs at eight thirty, and putting them to bed kind of cramps my style.”

  “For no greater love existed than to lay down one’s life for another.”

  “One Sunday church service in six months and now you’re quoting Scripture.”

  “Did you hear Dominic shot the mayor with two spitwads during Mass?”

  “And remind me again, is that better or worse than accusing the mayor of double murder?”

  “You’re a butthead, Katie.”

  “But I’m your butthead, Hope. See you tonight.”

  Johnny was super creepy, but he was also right. We had very little to work with in this investigation, except for this one piece of physical evidence.

  The murder weapon.

  That’s why I found myself waiting outside Dr. Bridges office when he pulled up in his cherry-red Jeep Grand Cherokee that morning. He climbed out, holding his black leather doctor’s bag, and acknowledged me with a smile and a tip of his head. “Good morning, Hope. I’m guessing you didn’t show up for a doctor’s appointment this morning?”

  “And how could you get that?”

  “Because you’re more like your grandmother than you know, and I think the last time she visited the doctor was when she was born.”

  “How about when she had my mother?”

  “Well, I wasn’t around back then, but I would bet that Granny delivered her baby somewhere between making breakfast and taking her liquor delivery for the day.”

  “Sounds like you know my Granny pretty well.”

  I walked with Dr. Bridges into his clinic, past the receptionist, who was already there, and back to his office. I sat down on an old leather chair while he fired up his computer.

  “So…” he said, crooking his head at me. “Are the rumors true? Did you really punch Gemima Clark?”

  “Unfortunately, yes.”

  He shook his head and chuckled. “Boy would I have liked to see that.”

  “What about the Hippocratic Oath?”

  He pressed his fingers together. “What about it?”

  “Doesn’t it say ‘do no harm’?”

  “Yes, but that only applies to me. Doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy you hurting someone.”

  “What did Gemima ever do to you?”

  “You remember my boy Henry?”

  I remembered Henry Bridges. He was a year behind me in school. I hadn’t thought about him in years.

  “How is Henry?”

  “Fine… now. But back in high school? Let’s just say Gemima made life miserable for him. Do you know if anyone has video of you punching her? Henry would get a real kick out of that.”

  “I’m in enough trouble. I really hope there’s not a video.”

  “And the arrest? That’s true as well?”

  “Unfortunately.”

  “You seeing Judge Thurmond today?”

  “This afternoon.”

  Dr. Bridges danced his fingers on his big wooden desk like he was thinking of something. “Judge Thurmond and I are good friends. Go way, way back.” He paused, then stopped and fixed his attention on me. “So, the case. What do you want to know?”

  “Do you still have the body?”

  “Nope, the FBI’s pathologist picked it up yesterday afternoon.”

  “Best guess for time of death?”

  “No guess, really. According to Sheriff Kramer, Bubba and Mary said Wanda left three years ago, and the level of decomposition I found squares with that estimate.”

  “I’ve been thinking: wouldn’t a decomposing body give off a smell?”

  “Oh, most definitely.”


  “So isn’t it weird that it was sitting in that pumpkin patch for three years and nobody noticed the smell?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. Farming can be a smelly business. The heat of organic material, manure, and then all the smells from Apple Donut Lane… And the body was buried, though not all that deep. I can’t say I’m surprised that no one smelled it.”

  “What did you learn from the body?”

  “Well, after that long, in fresh dirt, with no casket… when the earth and the water and the bugs and the worms can get to you… what’s left isn’t so much a body as a skeleton. But the teeth were all we needed for an ID, assuming it was Wanda, so I called Dr. Philpott and he brought Wanda’s dental records over. Perfect match. Then I carefully cleaned the dirt and mud off the rest of the body, and that’s when I discovered cause of death.”

  “She was stabbed.”

  He nodded. “In the intercostal space between her fourth and fifth ribs on the left side of her chest.”

  “And you know this because of the murder weapon.”

  “Weirdest thing. There was clay stuck between the ribs, and even though the handle had broken off, the screwdriver was stuck right there between the ribs.”

  “What screwdriver?”

  “The murder weapon.”

  “Then where was the knife?”

  “What knife?”

  “Sheriff Kramer told me that you found a knife stuck between the ribs.”

  “He must have misspoken. It was a screwdriver. A flathead.”

  “Do you still have it?”

  He shook his head. “That went with the FBI as well.”

  “Dr. Bridges, was there anything about the body or the screwdriver… anything at all that might help us with our investigation?”

  “As you know, I’m not a forensic scientist. Since the murder rate in our little town has picked up a bit, I’m been trying to learn more, but if there’s anything here to tell you… I’m afraid I’m not seeing it. The FBI are the experts; maybe they’ll come back with something.”

  I checked my watch. It was still early. But I was already feeling today’s two-o’clock arraignment at the courthouse bearing down on me.