“You’re assuming it was planned,” she said.
“I’m not assuming anything. He did have his back to the person, so he must have trusted…”
An angry male voice came from a table near the bar. “I gave you a twenty, not a five!”
A lower voice responded. Nick was talking to someone at the table, but his frame hid the complainer.
Skelly turned slightly to follow her gaze. “Probably not a matter for the fuzz.”
“Probably no…”
What sounded like a fist pounding a table, followed by broken glass, made Elizabeth stand up and place her napkin on the table.
“Great. No cheeseburger,” Skelly said.
“Be right back.” She strode toward the table just as Harvey came out of the kitchen.
Harvey watched the couple next to the angry patron. They were picking up their plates and moving toward a table not so close to the outburst.
Elizabeth nodded at Harvey and turned back toward Skelly just as the table that housed the guy who wanted more change was flipped over.
Nick yelled, “Hey!
Harvey shouted, “Out of here!”
Sitting on a chair that no longer faced a table was Monty, though he wasn’t bare-chested at the moment. His complexion was deep red, and he said, “I gave the guy a twenty.”
Monty tried to stand, but he was in the same shape Elizabeth had found him yesterday. He swayed and sat.
She backed up a couple of feet. Monty wouldn’t be able to injure anyone. Harvey could handle him.
Harvey took Monty by the back of his tee-shirt and one elbow and raised him to his feet. “You never come in here with anything bigger than a ten, and you know it.”
A modulated male voice behind Elizabeth said, “Excuse me, please.”
Frat President Blake Wessley moved past her and reached Harvey. “I’ll just take him outside.”
Harvey pushed Monty, none too gently, toward Wessley. “This is his last time here.”
Nick stood, order book at his side, taking it all in. A single dollar bill lay on the floor at Nick’s left foot, likely Monty’s change—from a five.
Elizabeth knew that the only thing on the menu that was less than five dollars was an order of small French fries. A plate with only smeared Ketchup rested on the floor near Nick’s right foot.
Wessley’s tone was firm. “Come on Monty. Time to go.”
Cursing Nick, Monty allowed himself to be led to the door.
Elizabeth went back to her table, but not before hearing Harvey say, “Forget it Nick.”
Together Nick and Harvey righted the overturned table and picked items from the floor. Harvey called, “Sorry folks.”
Restaurant conversations started again as Elizabeth slid in across from Skelly.
The server brought their food and Elizabeth and Skelly ate largely in silence.
Nick brought out a tray of food and delivered it to the table that now housed the couple who had moved away from Monty and his temper.
When he finished serving, Nick came over to Elizabeth. He lowered his voice. “We never had this at the Bully Pulpit.”
Hearing the diner's name reminded Elizabeth about something. "Nick, you guys mentioned the beer cooler. It was locked. Who has the key?"
"Only one I know about was on Ben's key ring." He glanced over his shoulder, possibly making sure Harvey was out of earshot. ”The picketers are here during the day. They say we shouldn’t cross the picket line. I don’t like being hassled.”
Elizabeth didn’t really care about the picketing. “Know those two frat guys who just left? Did they go to the diner a lot?”
“Not well. Ben didn’t like ‘em. He wrote AH and BH on their order tickets.”
“What’s that stand for?” Skelly asked.
Nick nodded toward the table where Monty had been sitting. “BH is butt head, and AH is pretty obvious, right?”
Nick turned toward the kitchen and Skelly narrowed his eyes in Elizabeth’s direction. “You look like the proverbial cat that swallowed a canary.”
“Those initials were in Ben’s order book, the only ones I couldn’t guess who they went with.”
Skelly took a pull on his beer. “So, this is a clue, right?”
“Smart ass.” But Elizabeth smiled as she said it.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
THURSDAY MORNING, ELIZABETH took in the two large windows on each side of the Logland Bookstore’s entry door. Alice always decorated the displays in seasonal motifs.
Today one had typical harvest colors and pumpkins, plus dozens of fiction and nonfiction books that bore some of the same colors on the covers. The other featured classic college homecoming photos and some more academic tomes – all accented with the Sweathog colors of green and muddy yellow.
The store wouldn’t be able to stay in business if it didn’t sell used books for Sweathog College students. The college bookstore gave credits when it took books back, but Alice accepted books on consignment and gave the students a higher percentage of a sale.
Alice told this to anyone who would listen. She resented that local people bought books online or from a small used book selection at the library. And she hated ebooks.
The store was not large. Three long rows of books, perhaps fifty feet long, moved from front to back. Tables of bestsellers or books on particular themes sat along the sides of the store, with chairs interspersed. People almost got into fights if others hogged the few comfortable armchairs.
Neither Alice or Jen was at the counter in the front, but Elizabeth thought she could discern Jen’s pony-tailed head at a row in the rear. Alice was so short she would not be visible once she went into the back of the store.
A bell above the door tinkled as Elizabeth entered. Jen called, “Be with you in a sec.”
Elizabeth walked to the counter and studied the row of magazines for sale. Alice put them behind the counter after the Sports Illustrated and People Magazine copies regularly grew legs, as she said.
Jen reached the front, brushing her hands together. “Hi, Elizabeth. I was just unpacking a couple of boxes. Any news?”
“Not enough. I wanted to talk to Alice.”
Jen went behind the counter to face Elizabeth. Tan haystacks dotted her orange and gold sweatshirt, which contrasted with a face more pale than usual. “She’s at the bank. Can I help?”
Elizabeth took in the bags under her usually bright eyes. “You feel okay?”
“Oh, sure. Up a lot last night. You know my sister’s in that group home now, on the edge of town, by the pharmacy?”
Elizabeth nodded, keeping her face neutral. She had to arrest Janice Abernathy last year for disrobing in front of the ice cream shop. Doctors diagnosed her as schizophrenic, and it turned out she had exhibited symptoms since her early twenties. The judge was compassionate, and said as long as Janice entered mental health treatment there would be no further punishment.
“You moved back to town to help her, right?”
Jen nodded. “More to help my parents. They didn’t want to think how sick she was becoming, and they wore themselves out keeping track of her.”
“So, how did she keep you up?”
Jen reached under the counter for a tissue. “The group home called about one this morning. Apparently Janice had been fooling them about taking her meds. She wanted everyone to get up so she could direct a choir.”
“I’m sorry, Jen. Is she okay now?”
Jen dabbed the corner of her eyes. “Skelly came by and gave her a shot about two. Before it knocked her out, we got her to take a dose of meds. I’m going to go by every morning for a while so she gets back on track.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “I didn’t know he did night calls.”
“I think he’s called the doctor of record for the home. Mostly it’s check-ups and monitoring their meds.”
Now that Elizabeth thought of it, she remembered Skelly saying he did that for the group home and the small senior residence on the edge of town. “You’
re awfully young to deal with a sister that…challenged.”
“You mean severely mentally ill.” She blew her nose. “It makes me feel old.”
"I'm sure your parents appreciate your help."
The shake of her head was enough to toss her ponytail. "Not that you'd know. I hadn't been back six months when they packed up and retired to Florida." She threw the tissue in a trash can. "I'm sorry. I'm just tired."
Elizabeth looked away, so Jen would have a chance to finish composing herself, and then back to her. “I came in to talk to Alice about Ben. I know they were close.”
Jen’s brow furrowed and her mouth turned down. “She’s really broken up about his death. She had coffee and sometimes lunch there every day.”
“They must have had a lot to talk about.”
Jen picked up a pile of cards that listed store hours and bore a discount coupon. She straightened them by tapping the pile on the counter. “Common interests, I guess.”
“Jen.”
She studied at Elizabeth. “What?”
“Maybe common hobbies?”
In a whisper, she said, “Ben’s dead.”
Elizabeth tried to keep her tone kind. “And I’m sorry. I’m not trying to prosecute folks who placed friendly bets through him. I want to know a lot more about the diner and who went there.”
“You know all about Alice.”
“Not as much as I thought I did. And if she was at the Bully Pulpit a lot, she knows a lot more about Ben than I do.”
The front door bell sounded and the two women glanced toward it. A frowning man in his mid-fifties walked quickly and called to Jen. “It’s my grandson’s birthday and I forgot. He’s coming over after school.”
Jen led him to the children's book section, which was near the back. Elizabeth wandered around the front of the store. Alice carried more gifts and cards than she used to. Elizabeth remembered a small gift shop near the hospital had closed six months previously.
The voice of the frantic grandfather was louder than Jen's, and drew Elizabeth's eyes toward their conversation. Recognizing that Jen would be tied up for a while, Elizabeth ambled to the side of the sales counter and examined the shelves that sat under the display cases.
Of course, if she found something of interest there, it would not be admissible in any prosecution. But Elizabeth wasn't interested in criminalizing the actions of hobby gamblers. What she wanted was more names of people who placed bets with Ben. Since Alice used to manage the pools, maybe she had a phone list.
Several hardback bestsellers had sticky notes with names and phone numbers of local readers, likely people Alice or Jen had called to tell their book orders had arrived. A child-sized shoebox had been decorated with construction paper and bore jumbled piles of crayons. Probably a way to keep children busy while parents browsed.
Shoved in between the books and box were what appeared to be a stack of folded bills or notices. Maybe the papers would list Alice's recent wagers.
Elizabeth glanced toward the back of the store. In a voice that could be considered booming, the man asked Jen to describe how the Goosebumps and Harry Potter books differed.
Elizabeth reached for the pile of papers and stepped away again, to a rack of books next to the counter. She shuffled the inch-thick stack quickly, but nearly dropped it when she realized it was mostly a compilation of overdue bills.
The electric bill was due in two days -- a final notice before shut-off. The biggest shock was the threat of a county tax lien if back property taxes continued to go unpaid. Elizabeth shoved the pile back to their spot between the books and crayon box.
The bell above the entry door dinged. Elizabeth moved a few steps from the counter and picked up a small stuffed bear from a nearby table.
Alice walked in, face red from the October breeze. She unwrapped a scarf and was hurrying toward the counter when she saw Elizabeth. Her face became a question mark.
“No, I don’t know more, but I’m getting some ideas. You might be able to help me.”
“Of course.” Alice went behind the counter and stowed a zippered deposit bag under the counter. “Just made yesterday’s deposit and got some change.”
“Ah.” Elizabeth put her elbows on the counter. “Ben had a lot of regulars. I’m hoping people like you, Squeaky, and maybe Gordon Beals can help me.”
Alice flushed a deep red and glanced toward Jen and the customer before looking directly at Elizabeth. “It wasn’t like some, some big gambling ring.”
To put her at ease, Elizabeth smiled. “I’m sure it wasn’t.”
“And it helped Ben.”
“Helped him?”
Alice nodded vigorously. “Yes indeed. He really didn’t make enough at the diner. If he hadn’t moved to that room above it, he wouldn’t have…”
“He lived above the diner? How did I miss that?”
“A couple officers were up there yesterday. Tony, and I don’t know the other one’s name.”
“Probably Mahan. I asked them to check Ben’s place. They said it was pretty spartan, but didn’t mention where it was. I should have asked.”
Alice’s eyes filled with tears. She moved away, and Elizabeth realized it was because Jen and the customer were coming to the cash register. Elizabeth stepped back as the grateful grandfather paid, complimented Jen on her good taste, and left.
Jen stayed by the register. Alice moved next to her and reached under the counter for a tissue to blot a trace of mascara now resting beneath one eye.
“Tough times.” Elizabeth studied Alice. “I hope you can tell me more about Ben, since you and he were good friends.”
Jen almost snorted. “Some people think he took advantage of her.”
Seeing Alice’s startled expression, Elizabeth dove in. “People have all kinds of hobbies. What I’m trying to learn is whether the sports betting had brought Ben any enemies. I should say, made anyone mad at him.”
Before Jen could speak, Alice said, “It was all people he knew pretty well.”
“Except a couple people from the college,” Jen added.
“I think I know about them. Two students, one tipsy a lot?”
“If you call slipping under a booth once ‘tipsy,’ then I think you have the right guys.”
“That one was Monty,” Alice said, “but I don’t recall the other one’s name.”
“Blake, Blake Wessley,” Jen said. “I taught him English last semester. He’s pretty full of himself.”
Elizabeth smiled. “I’ve met them both. What I’m trying to get at was did Ben owe anyone money? Were there people who owed him money, maybe he pushed them too hard?”
Alice’s head shake was firm. “He paid pretty quickly, and he only let a couple of us bet on credit. We had to pay quickly.”
Jen regarded Alice. “What about the time the Cardinals lost in the first round of playoffs against that wild card team? Didn’t a couple people pick that other team with like five-to-one odds?”
Alice nodded slowly. “Ben took a bath on that.”
This was the kind of information Elizabeth sought. “Was anyone especially angry if he couldn’t pay right away?”
Alice said, “A couple of us lent him money to cover.”
Jen straightened her spine and looked away
“People all say no one was angry at Ben,” Elizabeth said. “Someone was. Maybe it was a robber passing through and he didn’t mean to kill Ben. Maybe it was someone furious at him from years ago who finally found him. Bottom line is, I just don’t know.”
Alice still had her scarf loose around her neck, and she dropped it to her shoulders like a shawl, and tightened it. “I can’t believe it’s anyone we know.”
“Hard to imagine,” Elizabeth said. “I don’t need to tell you I want to hear if you have any ideas.”
Jen put an arm around Alice for a one-armed hug. “We’d call you immediately.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
ELIZABETH WENT TO THE frat house when she finished at the bookstore about
ten AM. After she pushed the doorbell, she thought more about Alice and her rocky finances. Given her seeming fondness for Ben, her financial straits and Ben's murder were probably unrelated. Still, defense lawyers were kept plenty busy with cases about people who genuinely cared for each other at one time.
Did Ben owe Alice a lot of money? From what Elizabeth gathered, Jen would be more likely to seek it on Alice's behalf than Alice would herself. Neither the bookish college teacher or the bookstore owner seemed prone to rage. Probably true of lots of killers.
At Elizabeth's fourth insistent push on the doorbell, a bleary-eyed Blake Wessley opened the door. So, he isn’t always sober. Unless his expression was due to late-night studying, which she doubted.
“Chief. Kind of early.”
“May I come in?”
“Sure. But I have to make coffee before we talk.”
Elizabeth nodded. In plaid, flannel sleeping pants and a KIZZ t-shirt, he didn’t appear nearly as charming, or as sure of himself, as he had two days ago.
She followed him through the dining room to the kitchen. Unlike her last visit, the plywood dining room table was covered in yellow plastic, the kind of disposable table cloth used for picnic tables. The kitchen was orderly, even clean.
And no goats. A big improvement.
Wessley added a coffee pod to the single-serve coffee maker and, in a groggy tone, asked, “Want a cup?”
She shook her head. “Had my fill, for the morning anyway.”
Coffee dripped as he took a small creamer from a drawer.
Elizabeth moved to a window near the back door, and her eyes were drawn to a plastic tub, about the size of a shoebox, on the small table near the door. She sniffed. A chemical smell emanated from it and she stared at it.
“You don’t want to touch that, Chief.”
She faced him. “I certainly won’t without permission. What’s the smell?”
Wessley yawned. “Formaldehyde.”
She turned toward him. “In a kitchen?”
“It’s a pig.”
“What the…?”
“A fetal pig. For biology dissection.”
“Why is it in your kitchen?”
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