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

by DL Cook

  “I thought it was Joe's Pizza.”

  “Yeah, that's what I said.”

  “How come your voice sounds so familiar?”

  “I don't know. People tell me that all the time.”

  “Oh. Okay. What was I gonna say? Um, um, um. You never asked for my address.”

  “You're at the police station, right?”

  “How did you know?”

  “Caller ID.”

  “Oh, okay. How long will it be?”

  “Twenty minutes.”

  “Okay. Thank you.”

  “Take care,” Ingrid ended the call.

  So they had the woman she paid to call Libby. Not that much of a problem. Ingrid had used Larry to hire her. If anything, the cops would be looking for him. And he was already at the cabin. Another of her employees was on his way there now to keep him company and defrost the meat.

  So, the cops had the messages the woman was supposed to tell Libby. Ingrid used gloves to pull them out of the printer. No finger prints, no handwriting analysis. Had she forgotten anything? Libertad Klump-Mettler was the intended recipient of the messages anyway. The woman knew nothing.

  What to do with the phone? Ingrid was glad she wasn't at home. “Stop here,” she told her driver. She scribbled Libby's order on a tissue. She handed it to him with a couple of twenties. “Order these for the police station, then throw out the tissue.”

  “Listen, lady. That's not part of my job description,” he leaned his arm on the headrest as he turned to her.

  “You'll do what I say, or I'll call your manager.” With Wallace missing (or was he hiding from her because of the botched hit on Duey McCaliker?), James dead and the other one up at the cabin, Ingrid was short staffed. At least in terms of communicating with her employees. Wallace did all of that. It kept her insulated. Safe. But at a time like this it proved a disadvantage instead of a benefit. And so she was reduced to being driven around by this imbecile.

  “I don't really have a manager,” the man said.

  “What kind of a car service company is this?”

  “Uh, not really a real one. You see—”

  “But I dialed the number on the ad in the paper.”

  “Oh yeah. I kinda intercepted that transmission with equipment I have from my old job and sort of swooped in and got to you first. You know, just cruising the rich side of town. I know you people don't drive yourselves.”

  What was this man yammering on about? “You just 'swooped'?”

  “Yeah. You know? I got fired today. I had a sort of an 'epinathy,' I think it's called. I said to myself, 'Kurt, just because they don't appreciate you don't mean others won't. Now get your act together and go earn some money. So I took the lights and stuff and dumped them in Miller's Pond, got a fresh coat of paint, fixed the—”

  “Spare me your life story. Go in there and order the pizza. I'll give you an extra twenty when you come back.”

  “Now you're talking,” her driver got out.

  Ingrid shook her head. The help these days. She tossed the battery out the window and then the phone after it. She wrinkled her nose. If this Kurt was going to be in the driving business he'd best refurbish the interior. At present it looked rather like a cop car.

  A masked man limped into Don's room. Good, he thought. They were taking precautions so there was a chance they'd let him go.

  “I have to go to the bathroom.”

  “No can do,” the man sneered. “Gotta wait for help to arrive. Don't want you escaping.”

  “Arrive where? Where am I?

  “Wouldn't you like to know.”

  “Do you know who I am?”

  “You're the guy who shot me in the foot.”

  “I thought we had met before...So why am I here?”

  “Beats me.” He leaned to examine Don's restraints. Satisfied, he straightened up and limped out. “He's alright, yeah,” he said, probably into a phone. “Wants to go to the bathroom...Yeah, that's what I said...One hour?...Got it.” A television popped on in the adjacent room and the man plopped down into what sounded like a leather seat.

  Don continued working at his leg restraints. It started as an attempt to regain circulation in his feet. Although he did not succeed in that regard, Don thought he made progress in loosening the rope. He could afford to be more noisy when he thought he was alone, but the television gave him some cover.

  “Let's regroup, see what we have so far. Everything we've investigated is connected. You know how on cop shows they have like a board with pictures of people and arrows and stuff? I'm starting to think something like that might be helpful,” Libby said.

  “All of the boards have your mom's recipes,” Peggy noted.

  “Hmm. You're right. What if we use this wall here?” Libby pointed to the one bare wall.

  “Isn't that your mom's take on that painting that was missing a while ago? A Portrait of Modern Life?”

  “Oh. I totally forgot about that.” Libby tapped a finger on her lips while looking at the homemade plaque Marcy had placed on the wall, along with a sign that said “Dear brothers in arms, keep at least three feet away from the artwork.” What would her Don do? “How about the floor then?”

  “That can work,” Peggy sighed. “We don't even need a marker or anything. Just something to cut through the dirt and grime will do.” She answered her ringing phone. “Thanks Dunk.” Putting her phone away she said, “Duncan's found the top rack of a police cruiser by Miller's Pond. He says it's fresh.”

  Tears threatened to come pouring out of Libby's eyes. She grabbed a new seltzer bottle, spilling an eighth of its contents by opening it too quickly.

  “We'll find him, dear. He's alright.”

  Libby nodded, not yet ready to speak. She took another long swig.

  After barricading a section of the room with caution tape they worked on their diagrams. Cinthia stood on the perimeter, keeping Arthur at bay.

  They took a break when the pizza man came.

  “I thought you said it was John's Pizza,” Tom ate his eggplant parm in two bites.

  “Yeah.”

  “This reminds me a lot of Mama Gia's.”

  “Me too,” Libby chewed. “Do you think they stole her recipes?”

  Tom shrugged. “Which one is cheaper?”

  “They didn't charge anything. The guy said we paid already.”

  “Then let's order from this one before they go out of business. Free pizza is extra good.”

  Everyone agreed with Tom.

  About an hour later, Libby stood upright and massaged her back. She examined their diagram, with its photos, notes, and red yarn connecting them.

  “Travis worked for the Ice Queen,” Libby said. “He was somehow involved in what went on at the warehouse. But it couldn't have been him because he was in jail when a couple of the victims went missing. Charlene worked there, according to Duey. Travis killed Charlene. Duey killed Travis as revenge.”

  She felt something in her gut, and it wasn't hunger or gas. “I think Duey has something to do with Don's disappearance.” Don's voice in her head yelled about not jumping to illogical conclusions. But he wasn't there to do it for real, so she went with her gut.

  “I know what Don would say,” Peggy mimicked his chin stroking. “But I think you should follow this hunch. In any case, we ought to be looking for McCaliker. He escaped from prison, stole one of our vans, and likely killed a suspect.”

  “Then I'll find him,” Libby said.

  “How do you propose to do that? The trail on Duey McCaliker is a bit cold.”

  “I have an idea,” Libby touched the warm fuzz in her bag. The puppy lapped at her fingers. “Ludvig has an awesome nose. He can track Duey, I know it.”

  “Ludvig?”

  “My new, older doggy.”

  “It's a bloodhound?”

  “No. But I know he can do it. He's very sensitive.” She recalled what happened earlier that morning. “He needs a walk anyway. You coming Cinthia?”

  “Yes, si
r.” Cinthia got Tom to replace her on guard duty.

  “Better take a picture of the chart,” Libby warned.

  “Already on it,” Peggy said, reaching behind her chair for a camera.

  When Lucus returned from the electric company's office he wished Tom would've been with him. The doof had a talent for dealing with mindless bureaucrats. Still, he had accomplished his task. He confirmed that no one sabotaged the evidence. The power company couldn't do a direct debit because McCaliker's company bank account had insufficient funds. So they terminated service.

  “Oh, you're back,” Mort said when he saw him. “Ingenious. Simply ingenious. You cut the power and everything decays.”

  With a tissue over his nose Lucus looked where Mort pointed and wished he hadn't.

  “No distinguishing characteristics. Even the teeth are rotting. In a few more hours they'll just be a pile of goo. Hydrochloric acid on steroids. That's a metaphor—although there is a steroid-like property at work here.”

  “You know what it is?”

  “I do actually. One of my professors in grad school worked on it. Never would have guessed otherwise and by the time we could do proper tests it would be too late. But like I said, I had a hunch and tested for dimethylricyclo...”

  Lucus could not follow along with even half of it.

  “And it's confirmed. That's the chemical they used here to get rid of the evidence. We're just lucky they didn't have the opportunity to cut the power before we discovered this place.”

  Lucus took a sheet of paper from him with the name. “Do you know who makes this stuff?”

  “Yeah. I almost went to work there before being re-seduced by the medical profession. Field medicine is my first love. My professor left to start a company, which is why I didn't finished my PhD in organic chemistry and have an MD instead. Anyway, the company's called Charon Laboratories and it's just a few miles away on County Road 3.”

  “What are they doing here in the middle of nowhere?”

  “Lack of environmental regulations and an abundance of tax credits. Why do you think no one can swim in Wallow's Creek anymore?”

  “It's that weird looking building with all the lights at night?”

  The Medical Examiner nodded.

  “Thanks, Mort. You mind informing Libby and Peggy?”

  “Working on the report now.”

  Lucus called Tom on the way to the station. “Wait for me in the parking lot. I'll pick you up in a few minutes.”

  “I can't,” said Tom. “I'm watching something on the floor.”

  “Huh?”

  “I'm watching papers and things on the floor. Libby told me to.”

  Lucus looked askance at the empty passenger seat, as he was wont to do when Tom said something weird next to him.

  “That doesn't sound very important,” Lucus said. Maybe Tom was being annoying and Libby gave him a fake job to keep him busy. “Where is Libby anyway?”

  “She went to find evidence.”

  “Okay...get out into the parking lot. I'm two minutes away.”

  “But I have to watch the stuff on the floor.”

  “So get someone to cover for you.”

  “Hold on.”

  Lucus listened to muffled talking.

  “Okay. I'll be right out. My uncle will do it for me. I had to give him a dollar.”

  “I'll buy you a pizza or something.”

  “Thanks, but I'm full. We had a pizza party. Libby left you some in the fridge but she said that the bigger one is for Don.”

  “Don turned up?”

  “I don't think so.”

  Lucus picked up his partner a few minutes later and they were on their way to Charon Labs. They got to the cylindrical building not long after. Lucus looked it up and down. “Maybe we should have stopped for a warrant first.”

  Tom shrugged and followed him to the front door, his head bent over his phone.

  “Sending Don more stuff?”

  “Gawker is really busy today.”

  An alert security guard greeted them in the lobby. “Welcome to Charon Laboratories,” he said the last word like a British guy. “How may I help you?”

  In case the uniform wasn't enough, Lucus displayed his badge. “We're investigating a crime and were wondering if we could take a look at your records.”

  “Right this way,” the guard surprised Lucus.

  He handed them over to a smartly dressed woman with black rimmed glasses and tied back blond hair. Her stilettos' clicking on the marble floor led them to the elevator. Lucus spent the trip staring at her butt and imagining the things he'd do to it if she let him.

  “This way, gentlemen,” the woman said with a knowing smile. She ushered them into a spacious waiting room and disappeared. It looked expensive but not gaudy.

  “So, are you ready for your date?” Lucus savored the lingering perfume.

  Tom ignored him.

  Lucus sighed. “Are you going trick or treating this year?”

  “No,” Tom didn't look up from his phone.

  “How come?”

  “It's stupid.”

  “What changed between this year and last? You had that batman costume you wear every time.”

  “Kurt made fun of me. He said I looked stupid and gay.”

  “So your hairy gut sticks out from underneath the top.”

  “Hairy? You should see Don's back,” Tom replied.

  “I did not need to know that.”

  The busty woman reappeared. “This way please. Dr. Gottlieb will see you now. Sorry for the wait.” Lucus followed her butt into an even bigger office with the same soothing browns and golds of the waiting room.

  “Hello I am Hans. Sales manager for local region. Please, have a seat. How may I help you fine gentlemen?” said a suited man from behind a giant desk.

  Lucus told him why they were there. The old man turned to his computer while saying to himself, “local customers.”

  He took his glasses off and turned back to them. “Ah, yes. I remember now. Always the same man. Duey McCaliker purchasing for a facility on Pine.”

  “Can you describe him?”

  “Older man. With a hard face, but the kind that would not stand out in a crowd. Large nose. Potato shaped head. Bald.”

  “That's not Duey,” Tom said, still engaged with his phone.

  “He did not look like a Duey,” Hans agreed.

  The description formed an image in Lucus' head that he didn't want to believe. “Tall or short, this man?”

  “More short than tall. In fact, he is due in a couple of weeks.”

  “I don't think he'll be coming back.”

  “Shame. A good customer. But we will manage.”

  “So this man, did you recognize him? I mean, do you know his real name?”

  “No. I am not from here. The commute is an hour for me, I am not at liberty to say why. Perhaps in many years.”

  “Tom, can you find a picture of the former police commissioner?”

  Tom did as he was asked. He gave his phone to Lucus, a photo of Wallace Williams on the screen.

  Lucus handed it to Hans. “Was this the man?”

  Hans put his glasses on, took them off, put them on again. “Yes, I believe so,” he returned the phone.

  “I'm surprised, sir, at how cooperative you've been. Thank you.”

  “Upstairs called before your arrival. Dr. Charon instructed me to cooperate fully.”

  Thank you Mort.

  They were escorted to the lobby by the woman. She placed a card in Lucus' hand, and left with a smile. Lucus watched her go. “Anika Meuller, Customer Support Representative.” Her personal number, written exquisitely in pen on the back, was framed with hearts.

  “What's that?”

  “I believe she gave me her number,” Lucus sniffed the card. Once they were outside he said, “this is big. Huge.” He called Libby and left a message.

  “What now?” Tom asked.

  “We get a warrant and go visit our old boss.”


  “Can we stop for pizza first?”

  “You were just full.”

  Tom clapped on his gut. “The tummy wants what it wants. I ran a lot the other day so it's all good.”

  Given a chance to procrastinate, Lucus agreed. He hoped Williams was long gone by now as he did not relish meeting his former boss.

  As they ate, Lucus recalled the scandal that brought down Commissioner Williams and the former Mayor. Intrepid reporter Finnemore Dunn discovered that drug runners used the town as a storage depot with Williams' knowledge and consent. After a series of denials, Williams resigned. He claimed he didn't know what really happened, as he merely turned a blind eye to certain activities. He acted, he said, on the Mayor's direct orders.

  The Mayor was so ashamed of his actions that he killed himself by holding his head down in a sink full of water. Suicide by drowning, Marcy Klump had determined.

  With the leadership of Councilwoman Quinton, the Town Council moved to ensure such an abuse of power never happened again. A new law made the office of Police Commissioner a public one. The Mayor's office was no longer in charge. Instead, the Council maintained oversight by controlling the police budget. Then a special election was called. Although he didn't run and no one, to Lucus' knowledge, heard of him, unemployed and over educated Donald Mettler-Klump won the majority of the vote. His caterer wife Libertad Klump-Mettler was in the same vote made the Deputy Commissioner.

  About a year later the Town Council wrapped up its investigation and, over Ingrid Quinton's strong objections, fired Marcy Klump for incompetence (she had proclaimed an official's spouse dead by suicide, preventing him from collecting on a life insurance policy). As a compromise and in respect for the retiring Councilwoman's wishes, they made the Medical Examiner's Office subordinate to the police force. That didn't make much sense to Lucus, but then again most things politicians did made no sense.

  In many ways Williams was more competent than Don. But Don didn't have that hard look and manner about him that made people nervous. Nor did people worry that Don would shoot them (on purpose, anyway) if they got in his way.

  Williams disappeared from the spotlight. For a time Lucus had thought the man moved away. Then he forgot all about him. Now he dreaded going to see his old boss, who appeared to be involved in a perhaps bigger crime.

  Libby leashed Wolfgang to his dad so that the puppy would have a walk. She enjoyed the crisp forest air while waiting for the dogs to catch Duey's scent. “I think they have it,” she said.