The Klumps Mysteries: Season One (Episodes 1 through 7)

by DL Cook

  When Cinthia finished with the pictures, they followed the path of the car that hit Don's. Libby saw the burnt rubber before her colleagues.

  “That's where he was.”

  “Watching?” Cinthia asked.

  Peggy nodded. “Looks that way, doesn't it? They're here to kidnap Don. He resists, almost gets away. Whoever's sitting here sees they're in trouble and ram's Don's car.”

  “Is Don okay?”

  “No evidence to suggest he isn't. Give me the number that called you. I'll do a trace when I get back to the station.”

  Libby showed Peggy her phone. “I'm gonna go visit Ingrid Quinton. Maybe she saw something. Maybe she saw the blue car.”

  “Good thinking. You mind if I keep Cinthia here until Duncan arrives?”

  Libby looked to Cinthia, who shrugged.

  “Sure. I'll see you guys later.”

  “Okay, sweetheart. The kidnapper will probably call you again. Let me know if it's a different number.”

  “Okay,” Libby trotted to her car.

  Lucus waited outside the warehouse for Mort. Heat rushed to his face when the cruiser turned into the parking lot. Lucus returned the driver's wave as the car departed. He forced himself to look into Mort's eyes.

  “Mort, listen—”

  “Oh come here, you,” Mort squeezed him.

  Lucus' feet dangled in the air.

  “Wow. You're a lot stronger than you look,” he said when his boots were firmly on the ground and his breath returned to him.

  “I thank you from the bottom of my heart. Best birthday ever. Stupendous prank. Having Kurt eat cake in front of me. That was a nice touch. Most of it, I say was Don's idea. But that last detail,” Mort shook a finger at him, “I say that was you. Brilliant. I admit, you really had me there. Especially with the property records. That was gold. For a second even I thought I did something illegal.” His smile revealed large teeth and gums.

  Lucus didn't expect that. “So you're not mad?”

  “Mad? Why would I be mad? You went through all that trouble to do something special for me. And this morning, when you let me out, there was a party. I mean, how awesome is that? You've certainly raised the bar. I'll have to up my game for your birthday.”

  “Um. No. That's totally not necessary. And um, you don't even know when...”

  “May 25th? You're in for something special. I promise.”

  “I um, um—”

  “So what's going on here? What did I miss?”

  Whew. Back to business. “Power's out. The bodies have defrosted. Everything's melted. I suspect sabotage, but haven't been able to find any lines cut.”

  “I see,” Mort furrowed his brow.

  “I also don't get how the bodies and all the ice melted so fast. Hanson said they were fine last night. It's got to be sabotage. They got you away from here and then...”

  “You mustn't blame your gesture for something going wrong here. If anyone is at fault it's me for being born on that particular date, Lucus. It's not sabotage necessarily the way you think. There was an interesting chemical. Haven't isolated it. But it could be it accelerates decay when it's above a certain temperature. I had just found it when I was called away. If it does accelerate decay, that narrows things down. Where's Don? What does he think?”

  Lucus followed the coroner inside, past a sleeping Hanson. “Don's not taking calls. Libby's looking for him right now.” Lucus lifted his shirt over his nose again.

  Mort inhaled deeply. “Definitely some sort of chemical. What you're smelling isn't rot. It's an organic compound, though.”

  “Is it safe?”

  Mort shrugged. “Probably. I don't know. If anything, we'll find out when we're old and get cancer or something. And by that time, you'll probably get cancer anyway. Toxic, our modern environment.”

  Lucus caught a smirk, but that was probably his imagination. Nevertheless, if Mort sought to comfort him, he didn't succeed. “You messing with me?”

  “No. Why would I ever do that?”

  “Never mind,” Lucus said, but Mort was already lost in his work.

  Ingrid Quinton answered the door herself. Her eyes looked puffy, no doubt from crying and lack of sleep. Who could blame her?

  Libby drank from a seltzer bottle to fight back tears. Sparkles always helped her.

  “Are you okay?” she said by way of greeting.

  “I've been better,” Mrs. Quinton fingered her neck brace. “This, um...”

  “My neck gets stiff sometimes too,” Libby said. The poor woman. Her body was falling apart because of stress. Libby knew exactly how she felt.

  “Come in, please.”

  “Oh, I won't be long. I don't want to bother you. It's just that...um, my Don, my husband is missing.”

  “I see.”

  “And you were one of the last people to see him, at um the Medical Coroner's office.” Libby cast her eyes down at her feet.

  “When I left he was still there, talking to that Asian fellow.”

  That fit Clyde's story. Libby said, “Did you see anything strange when you left?”

  “No. I don't think so.”

  “Was there anyone in the parking lot. A blue car?”

  Mrs. Quinton's eyes widened at that. “No. There was just my car (it's currently in the shop) and a squad car. What's this about a blue car?”

  “My husband was attacked last night in the parking lot. Someone kidnapped him.”

  “Your black pieced it together?”

  “My?”

  “Oh, what's her name. Margaret something.”

  Libby furrowed her brow. “I don't know anyone like that. But anyway, Peggy figured out that there was a blue car. You haven't seen it?”

  “Like I said, no other car there but the cop's. Your husband's.”

  “Oh well. Thanks for your time.” Libby turned to leave.

  “Does this have anything to do with that warehouse you're investigating? I heard something about that.” Mrs. Quinton said.

  “Um, maybe. I don't know.” That reminded Libby of the call she received from Lucus while she was on the road. “The evidence there got all ruined,” Libby refrained from stomping her feet. It wasn't a good day. She knew carrying a coffin on top of the car would be bad luck. She should've listened to her mother and never let Don exhume that body.

  “Ruined, you say?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That was quick.”

  “Huh?”

  “Nothing, never mind. Good luck finding your husband. I'm sure he'll turn up.” Mrs. Quinton locked the door as Libby walked away.

  What a good woman, she thought. Lost her son and still concerned for others. The way she smiled after Libby told her about the evidence—she wanted Libby to know everything would be okay. What a kind, compassionate woman. Libby called Don to tell him all about it. When he didn't pick up she remembered that he was missing.

  “Norpe, carn't find no problem here,” said the electrician. “No wires been cut. Northing.” He tied his long gray hair back in a ponytail.

  “Well thanks anyway, Mr. Powell,” Lucus said. He scratched his head. “Then what the hell happened? How'd they cut the power without actually cutting anything?”

  “Nar this ain't narn orf my business, but you pay your bill?” The man studied his face. “Yer, that probably it.” He nearly hit Lucus' shiny shoes with tobacco juice. “Miss Quinton mighrt herlp you out. She runs a refrigeration bursness.” Powell looked for a card in his pockets but failed to find it.

  “Thanks,” Lucus waved when the pickup truck rattled away. “And thanks for wearing pants.” It was time to visit the power company.

  “Hello?” Don said again.

  The house was empty. He pulled at his restraints and only got pain for his trouble. He didn't want to wet his pants, but that possibility looked increasingly likely.

  Don tried to distract himself. They wanted him alive. So they'd come eventually to feed him and so on. A door creaked somewhere.

  The copper
heard him come in. Duey knew because the man stopped struggling against his restraints. He carried the man's lunch, and his own, in a paper bag. He reached into his pocket and donned his brass knuckles.

  Maybe he wouldn't need them. Keeping the food just out of reach might be much more effective.

  The cop would no doubt ask for the bathroom. When Duey untied him, the man might try to escape. Ergo the brass knuckles. The important thing was not to kill him. Duey needed information. Shame he didn't have any handcuffs. Might as well let the man piss himself.

  He eyed Duey warily, scowling. Sweat glistened on his bald head. The stubble on his cheeks was going to be a beard soon. The man sighed in an exasperated way, like he had no patience for him. As if to say, “how could I be caught by him?” Duey wanted to punch him just for that look, but he restrained himself. For now.

  Duey sat down across from him. He took out a veggie burger, bought from the diner that should have been his. Damn cops. Duey hated cops. He hated this man.

  “You must be hungry. If you want one, I'll need some information.”

  The man snorted and rolled his eyes. Duey bolted up to hit him. His burger fell open on the floor. He got mustard on his pants. The man chuckled and shook his head, shame in his eyes. Shame that made Duey blush.

  “Well that one's for you.” He sat back down and took out the other burger. Duey ate self consciously as the man watched. It was hard not to feel that this bound man was the interrogator.

  No, Duey had the power here. He was in charge. He brought the guy here.

  Duey grunted and ate with renewed gusto. He remembered the man's face when he cornered him at the bus station. He was in charge. Damn right.

  When he finished chewing he said, “you're going to tell me who the Ice Queen is, or you don't get to eat.”

  The man shrugged as best as he could under the circumstances.

  “Why are you protecting her, you dumb cop? What has she ever done for you?”

  The man rolled his eyes. “I'm not a cop.”

  “Anymore. You were the commissioner, man.”

  The man sighed and looked away. “Do you know what loyalty is?”

  “Yeah. What do you think I'm doing here?”

  The man scoffed. “You killed your brother, no?”

  “That was different. That was survival. This is personal.”

  The cop closed his eyes in disgust.

  Libby drove past the pastry shop and a couple of pizzerias without feeling the urge to stop. Only Don was on her mind. A resident had called in what looked like an abandoned cruiser at Miller's Pond, so she was going to investigate.

  Her phone rang. A new, weird number. This time she answered it. “Hello?”

  It was the computer voice again. “We. Have. You or. Hus-band. You. Made. Good. On. The. Ware. House. He. Will. Liev yet.”

  Libby didn't understand that, but she had practiced for this call. “Let me talk to him. Let me talk to Don to know that he's okay.”

  There was a clink and a woman's voice cursing. The sound became muffled as whoever called her handled the phone. Libby heard what sounded like typing. “Not. Yet,” the computer voice said. “First. You. Dee-stroy. The. Re-cords on Dough Glass. Had. Igor.”

  Libby squeaked over it. “No. I have to talk to my Don to see if he's alright. He has low blood sugars, so you have to feed him. And he has a meat intolerance. Give him whole grains. No gluten. Brown rice is good. Or quinoa.”

  She waited through the long pause, wondering if perhaps the robot would say some nonsense about arsenic in brown rice. There were lots of little noises. Libby imagined a cafe.

  An oncoming truck's horn reminded her that she was still driving. Libby swerved out of the way and pulled to the overgrown shoulder.

  There were lots of muffled voices. Again she imagined a cafe. After a few clinks the computer voice came back. “You. Will. Be. Contacted. A-gen.” The line went dead.

  Libby's knuckles were white from gripping the steering wheel. She reached for her phone, which was mounted to the dashboard.

  Libby texted Peggy the number and then called the forensics expert. “Hi Peggy. It's me, Libby. I got called again. I just texted you the number.”

  “Already on it dear. Looks like that phone went dead. Must be using one of those that don't have an extra battery.”

  “Aww man.”

  “I did manage to get the last location.”

  “You're a genius!”

  “Corner of Woodrose and Main. The internet cafe, I'm almost positive.”

  “I'm five minutes away from there. Thanks Peggy.” Libertad screeched out from the shoulder and sped back to Main Street. She narrowly avoided several head on collisions, a couple of old people crossing the street, and two racoons rummaging in the garbage. They were so cute.

  She slammed on the brakes at the intersection.

  Libby took a sip of her sparkles to wet her tongue. It had been sticking out to aid her concentration during the high speed journey. She tried to get out of the car but couldn't. Unbuckling her seat belt did the trick. She burst into the cafe, not sure what she looked for.

  Libby scanned the room. A couple of nerds looked up from their game. One stared while elbowing his friend. The round man at the counter sized her up warily. He seemed nervous enough to know something. She waddled over to him in what she hoped was a very confident and assertive manner. Her leg started to hurt for some reason, however, so she probably didn't look as cool as she hoped. Still, she had a gun. And she was in charge of the entire police force.

  Keep him off balance. “You're not using Kali Linux here are you?” She narrowed her eyes as best as she could. Too much, she couldn't see. Libby tried the opposite approach, mimicking her brother's psycho look.

  The man took a step back. “Kali....?”

  Libby looked askance at him. “No Wireshark or Subterfuge? Metasploit?” Don had made her watch a whole thing about hacking last week.

  “I um. I just, um...” The man watched someone move.

  Libby turned to follow his gaze. A husky woman squeezed toward the door, trying not to look her way. It was her. Libby knew it. “Hold it right there! Police!”

  The woman flew out the door. Libby followed.

  As she ran she wondered whether parts of her body jiggled as much as the woman's. She'd have to ask Don. He was always honest about such things. One time, when they were first starting to date, he told her she smelled like puke. It was after she drank apple juice. If Don were there right now she'd hit him.

  “Focus,” she told herself.

  The woman turned into an alley. Libby pumped her short legs as best as she could. The taller woman outdistanced her. Libby had to stop to catch her breath. She described the suspect into her radio, “big woman with hair fleeing Woodrose and Main.”

  She panted back to her car. The suspect wouldn't have gotten far. Libby thought the woman was as tired as she was. And with no one following her, she'd slow to a walk. Sure enough, Libby found her two blocks over. The woman ran again after spotting the cruiser.

  “That's more like it,” Libby said. She drove without the gas pedal behind the suspect until the woman collapsed. Libby handcuffed her and asked politely for her to get up and into the car.

  “I ain't do nothin'” the woman said as they drove to the station.

  “You made me chase you when all I wanted to do was ask a couple of questions. Now there's procedures I have to go through,” Libby said what she imagined Don would say.

  “I ain't do nothing.”

  Libby thought she recognized the voice from the cursing. She radioed to have Tom help her when she arrived at the station.

  As the woman glared at the wall in the interrogation room, Peggy examined her phone. “She called you both times,” Peggy said. “Must have switched SIM cards.”

  “Yeah, she had a bunch in her pockets.”

  “She say whom she works for?”

  “Noppers.”

  “Well, there's only one other num
ber this phone has dialed.”

  Ingrid checked the incoming number on her burner phone. She scoffed. No matter, she was going to call that piece of flesh anyway, having just contacted Barry or Larry or whatever his name was up at the cabin. She was going to figure out how to put Don through to Libby without taking the woman up there—although that would be a good place to get rid of her. Her jowls tensed as she thought.

  She hit the answer button. “What do you want now you idiot?” Instead of the foul mouthed woman Ingrid heard Libby's childlike voice.

  “Hello? Who is this?”

  Ingrid had to think quickly, but her old brain protested. Her first impulse was to hang up, remove the battery, and smash the phone. But she held on to it, tight, and pressed it against her ear. “I, er, um, Joe's Pizza,” she said.

  “Joe's Pizza? Where's that?”

  In the background someone shouted, “you're ordering pizza? Can I have some?”

  “Hold on, I'm trying to find out,” Libby said, her voice growing distant as her mouth moved away from the receiver.

  “I want mushrooms and peppers. No onions, though. I hate onions.”

  “Tom,” Libby whined. “I'm trying to talk on the phone. And onions rule,” she squeaked. “Sorry about that,” she said into Ingrid's ear. “I think my brother's hungry. What was I gonna say? Um. Did this fat lady call you before?”

  “I don't know, ma'am. As this is a pizza restaurant, I imagine lots of fat people call all the time.”

  “Oh, alright then,” Libby sounded disappointed. “Then I guess I'd like to place an order? Where are you located anyway? I don't think I heard of you?”

  “Er, um. Just past Main toward Thompson.”

  “I never heard of Thompson.”

  “Well, um, it's here though.”

  “Okay. Tom,” she said away from her receiver, “what was it you wanted again?”

  “Eggplant parm.”

  “I thought you wanted a pizza?”

  “That too. Mushrooms and peppers.”

  “Okay,” Libby said back into the phone as more voices sounded in the background. “We'll have two eggplant parms, a large pie with mushrooms and peppers, hold the onions, two plain pies, and two slices with caramelized onions. And can we get a large soda with that?”

  “Uh. Okay. Uh. Thanks for your order. Bye.” Ingrid hung up, her heart pounding almost as hard as after a kill. She was about to dispose of the phone when Libby called again. “Hello? John's Pizza.”