Death of a Survivalist

by Glen Ebisch

  “Charles,” she whispered in a faint voice. “I was just taking care of business.”

  “What business?” Charles asked. But her eyes opened wide and became fixed on some distant point, and he knew she was gone.

  He took out his cell phone and dialed 911 to ask for an ambulance and the police, then he called Joanna.

  “Lavinia is dead,” he said in a voice filled with emotion. He felt a strong desire to cry, far more than when his wife had died a few years before. He didn’t know why. Perhaps because he had watched Lavinia die, while he had only been informed of his wife’s death.

  “What happened?” asked Joanna briskly.

  “There’s blood. I think she’s been murdered out here in the parking lot. I’ve already called 911.”

  “Okay, Charles, now I want you to go into the Inn. It isn’t safe for you out there. The murderer may still be around. Go into the lobby of the Inn, and I’ll meet you there is a few minutes. Do you understand?”

  “You mean I should just leave Lavinia here?” he said, glancing over at the body.

  “Yes, Charles, leave her there. She’ll be fine. The police and an ambulance will be there in a matter of minutes. Now start walking toward the inn.”

  Charles stayed bent over Lavinia’s body for a long moment.

  “Are you walking toward the Inn?” Joanna asked.

  “Yes,” Charles lied. But a few seconds later he did just that.

  Chapter 21

  Charles was sitting alone in the lobby of the Opalsville Inn. He’d been there for a couple of hours. The police had ordered the management to clear the lobby and confine the guests to their rooms. Any other patrons who were in the bar area had already been questioned by the police and sent home, while other officers had gone room to room to interview the resident guests. Joanna had forced a scotch into his hand and told him to sit tight. He hoped it wasn’t a very good scotch because he was barely able to taste it. In fact as he looked around the room decorated in faux colonial style all he could see was Lavinia’s face as she lay on the macadam of the parking lot and suddenly began staring into space. So alive one minute and so not the next.

  Joanna slid into the chair across from him and took out her notebook.

  “We’ve talked to everyone else. Are you ready to answer some questions?” she asked gently.

  Charles nodded. “But I have no idea what happened.”

  “Was she alive when you found her?”

  “Yes. She saw me walking across the parking lot and called me over, but by the time I got there she was on the ground. She died a moment later. I could tell.”

  “Did you see anyone else in the area?”

  “No. But I wasn’t really looking, and there were lots of cars, someone could have easily hidden behind one of them.”

  “Did she say anything before she died?”

  “Just that she was taking care of business?”

  “What kind of business?” Joanna asked.

  “I asked her, but she died before she could answer.”

  “Maybe it was the business of investigating Locke’s death.”

  Charles shrugged and cleared his throat. “She told me on the phone that she had found something up in Vermont. I got the impression it was relevant to the case.”

  “Did she tell you what it was?”

  “No. And she said she was planning to meet with someone right before seeing me. But didn’t say who it was.”

  Joanna closed her notebook and gave Charles a long look.

  “I have a question for you,” she said. “It isn’t an official police question, and I’m not going to write down your answer.”

  Charles looked at her dully and took a sip of his drink. “What do you want to know?”

  “Why are you so broken up over her death? It’s not like you haven’t seen death before. I’m sure it was all around you in Vietnam, and you’ve come across a couple of dead bodies here in the last couple of months. Yet I’ve never seen you so rattled. What makes Lavinia special?”

  Charles was about to make a glib comment about everyone’s death diminishing him, but he looked into Joanna’s eyes and knew that the question was very important to her and very important to the future of their relationship.

  “I liked her,” he said finally. “And she liked me. We had a sort of bond even though we were very different people, and all that happened between us is that she kissed me once. But I guess she brought out a wild side in me, if that doesn’t sound too ridiculous.”

  Joanna smiled. “I’ve always known you had that side, Charles. Anyone who gets involved in crimes as much as you do has to be a little wild or crazy.” Joanna looked down at the table so he couldn’t see her eyes. “You know, when you called me and said you were going to see Lavinia instead of showing up for our date, I was a little jealous. I thought you preferred her to me. She was an attractive and vibrant women, even if a little violent.”

  Charles reached across the table and touched her hand. “Never did I prefer her to you,” he said. “I was just infatuated for a second with the idea of leaving society and living a free life out in the woods. I think there’s a bit of the survivalist inside every American man. Probably it’s genetic. After all, the folks who came over here were the ones who weren’t afraid to fight for their existence on the frontier. The more sedate people stayed home. Somehow she brought that out in me, something I never knew was there.”

  “Well, Daniel Boone,” Joanna said after a moment, “do you feel like going home now?”

  Charles nodded and got to his feet. Suddenly he felt wobbly and held onto the table. Joanna came around and took his arm.

  “Can you drive? I could take you home, and we can come back for the car tomorrow.”

  “What about our date?” he asked.

  “The roast has been sitting in the oven for hours. It’s probably ruined by now.”

  Charles smiled mischivously. “There’s more to a date than food.”

  Joanna studied his face, then shook her head. “As long as I live, I’m certain that I’ll never understand men. Can you drive to my place?”

  Charles nodded eagerly. “I’ll be there before you are.”

  She smiled. “I bet you will.”

  Chapter 22

  Charles felt movement in the bed beside him and looked up in time to see Joanna walk naked across the room and pull her robe out of the closet. He enjoyed watching her. She wasn’t a little slip of a thing like Barbara had been, but she moved with both grace and determination.

  “Where are you going?” he asked drowsily.

  She turned to him and smiled. “To put some breakfast on. Are you interested?”

  “Do you always start out so early on a Sunday morning?”

  “I have to get ready to go to church.”

  “You go to church?” he asked in surprise.

  “It helps me get through the week. Plus it’s good community relations. Why don’t you rest for a few minutes while I use the bathroom? I’ll meet you in the kitchen in about half an hour.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Charles lay on his back and stared at the ceiling. Last night had been good, a bit awkward at first, but finally successful. Not like the days of his youth when he could go three times a night, he thought, then he realized that was something he imagined rather than what had really happened. But he felt satisfied, and hoped Joanna felt the same way. The best part, if he was going to be honest with himself, was the cuddling that came afterward. He’d been sleeping alone for a long time, and that had also meant not having anyone to chat with in the darkness. Even for the last few years of his marriage, he and Barbara had rarely shared any pillow talk, except to review their obligations for the next day. Again, he asked himself, why had he not been aware that his marriage was in difficulty. Probably because he didn’t want to think about it because to think about it would have led to the recognition of the need for action. And he was satisfied enough with the way things were not to want to put out the effort. He ha
d never thought of himself as lazy, but when it came to maintaining relationships, maybe he was. After all, he thought, what close friends do I have? How many people from my past have I maintained contact with over the years? The number, he realized with sadness, was pathetically small.

  He heard Joanna come out of the bathroom. She stood in the doorway.

  “Your turn,” she called out gaily.

  “I think I’ll go to church with you if that’s all right,” he responded, surprising himself.

  “I didn’t know you went.”

  “It’s like eating brussels sprouts, I don’t make a habit of it, but I believe it’s good for me.”

  “I’ll be happy to have you come along.”

  “It won’t label us as an item in town?”

  Joanna laughed. “The way police gossip, we already are. Come out to the kitchen when you’re ready.”

  Charles wondered why he had volunteered to go to church. Maybe it was because he actually sometimes missed going to church the way he did as a child with his family. Not that they had ever been devout, but his parents had thought it gave them some standing in the community, so weekly attendance had been mandatory. Charles’s own beliefs were not conventional. He thought it was about fifty-fifty whether there was some ultimate power in the universe, and he doubted any religion had even the vaguest idea of what that power might be like. But he enjoyed the sense of celebration a service brought, and he liked having a rootedness in a particular place and time. Church gave some definition to the week, which had been inadequately replaced by professional football on a Sunday afternoon.

  After using the bathroom, and deciding that since he had no razor he would have to pass as a moderately dashing derelict, he dressed and wandered out into the kitchen where the smell of coffee and sizzling bacon greeted him. Joanna was just getting off her cell phone.

  “Were you calling the station?” Charles asked, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

  She nodded. “All the interviews have netted us nothing. No one heard or saw anything in the parking lot last night, and there were so many people in the lobby and bar area that no one noticed if anyone disappeared around the time of the murder.”

  “What about Marie and Reggie Locke? They’re still staying at the hotel, aren’t they?”

  “Yes. They said that they had dinner together at the Inn and spent the rest of the night in their rooms until the police came to question them. They were planning to head back home today, but I asked them to stay for a couple more days. They didn’t like it, but agreed.”

  “How was Lavinia killed?”

  “A knife. She was stabbed in the back and the blade pierced her heart. A considerable amount of force had to be used. It also appears that she was carrying a gun. There was a holster on the back of her belt but the gun is missing.”

  “I know. I saw her gun the other day.”

  Joanna was instantly alert. “Did she threaten you with it?”

  Charles shook his head. “No, she was just showing it to me.”

  “Why?”

  “I told her to be careful if she was going to carry on her own investigation, and she showed me the gun to prove that she could take care of herself. I guess she was wrong.”

  “Just like Sebastian. She must not have been very afraid of her attacker or she would never have turned her back on him or her. Did she give you any idea of why she was meeting this person?”

  “No. I just assumed that it had something to do with what she had learned on her trip up to Vermont.”

  “One egg or two?” Joanna asked as she popped some bread in the toaster. “Is sunny side up okay? It’s the way I always do mine.”

  “Two and that’s fine.”

  “I enjoyed last night,” Joanna said a few minutes later with a small smile, as she put a plate down in front of Charles.

  “So did I,” Charles said.

  “We’ll have to do it again some time.”

  “Yes, sooner rather than later. You never know how much power is left in my battery.”

  “I’d say you were pretty well charged.”

  “Still, there’s no point in wasting time now that we’ve found each other.”

  Joanna gave him a thoughtful look. “You know, I think you may be right.”

  In a few minutes they were eating in companionable silence. Joanna lived in a small condominium on the outskirts of the downtown. She told Charles that she preferred the functional over the elaborate because she had little time to devote to yard care or cleaning. Her simple one bedroom one bath was just right for a busy person living alone. Charles agreed, although secretly he liked his own rambling house because it had more character. Of course, he had plenty of time and a strong emotional desire to maintain the place as it had been for over thirty years. But hadn’t he just yesterday decided to surrender to his age enough to allow someone else to rake the leaves. Maybe he was moving toward a new way of life.

  When they were done eating, they headed off in separate cars to the Opalsville Community Church. Joanna had to go into work directly from church, and Charles was going to head home. They pulled into adjoining parking spaces in the rapidly filling parking lot and walked into the church. Charles noticed that Joanna smiled and nodded to a number of people, so apparently she was well known at the church. Several people gave him a long quizzical look, which told him that Joanna normally came alone. If they weren’t already an object of gossip, they certainly would be now.

  Charles enjoyed the service. The singing was enthusiastic, the Bible readings were impressive in their majesty, and the sermon was thoughtful.

  “Thank you for the invitation. That was a great way to start the week,” Charles said when they returned to their cars.

  “You’re welcome. Now go home and read a good book. Don’t go out meeting questonable characters in parking lots anywhere. There’s still a murderer on the loose, and he or she apparently doesn’t take kindly to amateur sleuths.”

  Charles leaned over and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

  “I hear and I obey, lieutenant.”

  “If only,” Joanna replied with a doubtful shake of her head.

  Charles drove back home feeling remarkably mellow and optimistic about the future. His relationship with Joanna seemed to be on track, and he foresaw many happy meetings in their future. His good mood, however, was quickly darkened by thoughts about the murder of Lavinia, and concerns over Amy’s marital problems.

  When he got home he showered, shaved, and changed into more casual clothes. He was looking forward to a quiet afternoon reading and daydreaming like a teenager about himself and Joanna. But no sooner had he settled into his favorite chair than the doorbell rang. Mindful of his promise to Joanna, he carefully peered out thorough the sidelight around the door to see who was calling. A young woman was on the porch. She looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t quite identify her. She apparently spotted him examining her because she called out. “Professor Bentley, it’s Cynthia Romelli, I had you in contemporary American lit two years ago. I need to talk to you.”

  Although a bit uneasy in this day of sexual accusations at the idea of being alone in his house with a female student, he also had heard a note of genuine desperation in her voice. He opened the door, but planted himself directly in front of her with his feet braced in case she should try to charge into the house.

  “How can I help you, Cynthia?”

  “I need to talk to you about the murder on campus.” She glanced over her shoulder, surveying the street as if expecting to find someone spying on her. “Can I come in? I’m uncomfortable out here. Someone might see me.”

  And I’m uncomfortble at the idea of you’re being in here, alone, with me, Charles wanted to say, but decided it would sound silly and ungracious. With a nervous flutter in his stomach, he stepped out of the doorway and allowed the woman to come into the house. He quickly directed her into his study and into a chair near the fireplace. He then pulled a straightbacked chair opposite her and a good distance
away. He didn’t think any young woman would be irresitably attracted to him, but who truly understood the minds of the young.

  Charles sat down and gave her what he hoped was a benevolent smile. The kind an asexual old uncle might give to a charming niece.

  “Now, how can I help you?”

  Inside and seated, Cynthia seemed unsure how to begin. She stared across the room for a long moment, until Charles began to wonder if she was engaged in some sort of subterfuge.

  “Kevin Rhodes and I are friends,” she suddenly began. The way she emphasized the word “friends” led Charles to believe that it was a romantic relationship.

  “I remember Kevin. You were both in the same course with me.”

  “That’s right.” She blushed slightly. “That’s where we first met.”

  Charles smiled to show that he wasn’t opposed to young love. He reflected that young love could sometimes be sweet until it went sour.

  “Kevin and I were both there protesting against the Sebastian Locke lecture that day. We thought it was wrong for the college to give a forum to right-wing radicals.”

  “I saw Kevin protesting, but I didn’t see you.”

  “I only got there late, right before the lecture was due to begin. I had to make up a biology quiz. Kevin was angry with me because he thought I should put my political commitment above grades. But I want to go to medical school and that will never happen if I flunk bio.”

  “I think you have a good point,” Charles said to enourage her to go on.

  “Well, anyway, by the time I got there Kevin was in front of the library with a few other kids waving a sign around, so I didn’t think anything of it when I heard that Sebastian Locke had been murdered.”

  “What happened to change your mind?”

  She hesitated, and Charles guessed that they were getting to the core of the matter.