Death of a Six-Foot Teddy Bear

by Sharon Dunn

  “I never said you were.” Mallory stepped toward her desk. “I reserve judgment until all the evidence is in.” She placed the pencil back in the canister. “When we do catch Mr. Simpson, he’ll either confirm the story you told me over the phone or not.”

  Now her heart was racing. She tried so hard to do the right thing, to be honest. “Mr. Simpson is the jewel thief, not me.”

  “What is your association with Mr. Simpson?”

  Let the gunfire begin. “I had never seen Mr. Simpson before I came to the Wind-Up and his squirrel went missing.”

  “When your husband said what time he had gotten into town, you looked at him like you didn’t believe him.”

  That bullet went right into her heart. So that was when the suspicion seed had been planted. She paced four feet in one direction. Mallory was just doing her job. If Ginger were the detective, she probably would have drawn the same conclusion. Ginger slipped her purse off her shoulder and twisted the strap. “I know I saw Earl on the convention floor, and I know my husband is an honest man.” She turned and walked back toward Mallory. “I can’t answer your question.”

  “If you could answer that question, I might be more inclined to believe that you were hit on the head by Simpson and sent down the river. If that really is why you can’t account for your whereabouts for nearly twenty-four hours.”

  “I can find the people who helped me.” She had to admit, sent down a river and adopted by tent people ranked right up there with UFO abduction stories. Only her story was true. How was she going to convince Mallory? Ginger bent her neck and tapped her head with her fist. “I got this knot on my head. Is that evidence enough?”

  Mallory’s eyes grew round, and Ginger thought she saw just a flicker of a smile.

  The detective straightened her spine, placed her hands on her hips. “I’m sure we’ll get this all sorted out once Mr. Simpson is in custody.”

  Mallory was still giving the official police line, but the silliness of Ginger suggesting a bump on her head would wrap up the case must have softened the detective somewhat. “I guess there’s nothing more I can say.”

  Mallory nodded. “I would appreciate it if you and your husband would stick around.”

  Ginger walked toward the door, but stopped. She needed to let Mallory know everything. Do the right thing and God will work out the rest. She’d driven across town to tell the whole truth. “When you do catch Mr. Simpson … He did hit me on the head and he is a thief, but I don’t think he killed Dustin Clydell.”

  Mallory shook her head.

  “A year ago in Montana, a dear friend of mine was murdered. I saw the eyes of her killer; I know that look. Mr. Simpson had two chances to end my life, and he didn’t take them.”

  “We can’t let a suspect go based on the look in his eyes.”

  “I just thought you should know. When he had me cornered in the camper, Mr. Simpson got real mad, but he acted like he didn’t know how to use a knife. And he could have killed me and put me in that boat instead of just knocking me out.”

  Ginger couldn’t quite assess what the expression on Mallory’s face indicated. The detective nodded, but there wasn’t so much as a lifting of a brow, very masklike. Ginger turned and walked across the carpet. It didn’t matter what the detective thought. She had laid all her cards on the table, and now her stomach had calmed and the heat she’d felt in her face and neck subsided. That was all she could do. The rest was in God’s hands.

  She reached for the doorknob, opened the door, and stepped outside.

  “Does anyone have a cell phone?” Frankenstein’s gaze traveled from the old man, to his wife, and then rested on Kindra.

  Her heart skipped into double time. The wig was making her sweat. She stared at the pattern in the carpet. Please quit looking at me.

  Frankenstein leaned toward Kindra as though sharing a secret. “I think I left mine in the hotel room.”

  Kindra leaned back. Xabier squeezed her hand tighter. How long before Frankenstein figured out Xabier was in the elevator with him?

  The older woman waved the air as if shooing mosquitoes away. “Oh, I never use those things.”

  Kindra turned toward Xabier, so she didn’t have to look Frankenstein in the eye. “I think—I think—I have one.” She touched her purse with trembling fingers. Could he see her squirm?

  Frankenstein shifted his weight. His gaze rested on Xabier. Oh no. He puckered and then flattened his lips. Time slogged forward.

  Please, no, don’t let him figure it out. She felt around for the cell phone. Her hand brushed over Earl’s Pepper Light. That gave her a sense of security. If things got out of control, she could blast him with it … and run, where, to a corner of the elevator? Frankenstein tilted his head and narrowed his eyes at Xabier in disguise.

  Xabier stroked his fake beard.

  She pushed all the junk around in her purse. The bangs of her wig angled crookedly across her field of vision. Could her face get any hotter? She touched her head, but stopped short of adjusting the wig. That would be too much of a giveaway.

  “Is it in there, dear?” The older woman reminded Kindra of her Sunday school teacher, all pink and soft. The older woman’s husband tapped his foot and stared at the ceiling.

  “I’m looking for it.” Her hand rested on the hard plastic of the phone. Was it just her imagination or were the walls closing in? Oh, for the controlled, cool environment of taking an advanced physics final.

  Frankenstein continued to watch Xabier. The danger seemed to energize the actor. He stood up straighter, almost challenging Frankenstein to guess who he was. In contrast, she was producing enough perspiration to supply a water park. If she kept it up, they might just drown in this tiny space.

  “Here it is.” She lifted the phone and released a nervous giggle.

  “Why don’t we call the front desk and let them know we are stalled out?” Frankenstein’s voice boomed, much too loud for such a small space.

  Her fingers hovered over the numbers. Her vision blurred.

  The older woman placed a hand over Kindra’s “You okay? You’re shaking like a leaf.”

  Xabier wrapped an arm around Kindra’s back. “My wife is a just a little claustrophobic, is all. Do you want me to make the call, honey?” He squeezed her shoulder. “I can do it if you like.”

  He had turned slightly so Frankenstein couldn’t continue his under-the-microscope examination of him. The movement was so smooth and integrated with his conversation that only she understood the reason for it. She squeezed the phone. “I can do it … sweetheart.” See, I can act too.

  She caught just the hint of a smile on his face.

  She dialed. “Hi, Tiffany. This is Kindra Hall. Listen, the elevator is not working. I’m stuck in here with four other people … You can? Thank you.” She clicked End and snapped her phone shut. She sought out the friendly face of the Sunday school teacher. “She says she can send someone to fix it.”

  Sunday School Teacher clapped her hands together. “That’s a good thing.”

  Her husband groaned.

  Silenced draped the tiny space. Kindra rocked back and forth and stared at the ceiling. She flipped her phone open and snapped it shut.

  “Are you two on your honeymoon?” the older woman asked.

  Kindra’s neck stiffened. What do I say?

  Xabier said, “Yes, we are. We’re from Omaha. This is our first trip to Nevada.”

  What was Xabier doing, telling all these lies? Frankenstein was already giving them the hairy eyeball. The best thing for them to do was to be quiet and not give good old Frank too many opportunities to stare at them. He was bound to figure it out sooner or later.

  Xabier worked his way to a wall of the elevator and rested his hands on the metal railing. He positioned himself so he was behind the old man, blocking Frankenstein’s view.

  The elevator screeched to life. Frankenstein once again turned his back to them. Kindra melted against the back wall of the elevator next to Xabier. A
rock and roll drummer would have envied the rapid pounding of her heart. Might as well place her head in the mouth of a lion. She leaned into his shoulder. This was crazy. Yet, she felt safe standing next to this lion.

  The older woman touched her poufy white hair. “They got to that pretty fast, didn’t they?” The couple stepped out on their floor. Doors closed and the elevator rose.

  The doors eased open. Frankenstein stepped out. Xabier pulled Kindra through the doors. She stopped just outside the elevator, watching the back of Frankenstein grow smaller as he made his way up the hallway.

  Xabier tugged on her hand. She planted her feet. Grasping his arm, she whispered in his ear, “Don’t you think we have taken enough chances today?”

  “I want to get to the bottom of this. I am tired of being chased. I need to see that invoice.”

  Frankenstein pulled his skeleton key out of his pocket and slipped inside his hotel room.

  “You said yourself you think they might be dangerous.”

  Three women with shopping bags emerged from the stairwell and made their way up the hall. Kindra turned away from them as though fascinated by the artwork on the wall. She spoke under her breath. “What if they did kill Dustin, by accident or on purpose?”

  “This was your idea in the first place. Please help me, Kindra.”

  The painting on the wall was of a little girl holding a rag doll. Trains, blocks, jack-in-the-boxes, and wooden cars lined the shelves behind her. The three shoppers passed by, chattering and laughing. “We got to go to the police. You can’t do everything by yourself.”

  “I told you; I don’t like cops.”

  She studied him for a long moment. Even beneath the disguise, she saw the little boy sitting on the park bench, waiting for help that never came and then wandering home in the darkness. “What’s your plan?”

  “Thank you.” Warmth laced through his voice, making her heart beat faster. He intertwined his fingers with hers. “We saw what room he went into. Lets walk by and get the number.”

  Their feet padded lightly on the beige carpet. Frankenstein was staying in room 812.

  Xabier guided her to the end of the hallway into the room with the pop and snack machines. “Watch his door, see if he comes out. Let me borrow your cell phone.”

  Kindra pulled her cell out of the purse.

  Xabier hit Redial. “Don’t hang up, Tiffany; it’s your number-one enemy.” Xabier leaned a hand against the wall. “I have a favor to ask of you. Would you consider loaning me the key to room 812?”

  Even filtered through the phone, Tiffany’s voice nearly broke the sound barrier. Xabier used the pauses when Tiffany caught her breath to sooth her tirade with, “I understand. I totally understand.” He allowed her to continue until she had exhausted herself into silence or was crying. Xabier may not want to identify with his father, but he has some of the same charm.

  Xabier allowed the silence to go on for a moment longer before speaking. “If you give me the key, you can have half the hotel, providing Dad didn’t have it in hock. It’s like a gamble.”

  Kindra leaned a little closer to Xabier. Had he lost his mind? Selling his birthright for a key. Hello, Esau.

  “Okay, we’ll be waiting here for you amongst the ice and stale crackers.”

  He handed the phone back to her.

  “Are you nuts? Did you just give away half your hotel?”

  “It’s just stuff. I don’t know anything about running a hotel and Tiffany does. Half ownership would produce enough to start a little theater somewhere. There, see, I made a plan.”

  “But full ownership could make you financially stable, and what if Tiffany killed your dad—”

  “I hadn’t thought of that.” He pressed his palms together. “The hotel doesn’t matter to me, Kindra. I can always find a job somewhere if I need to.” He ran his hand up and down the wall and shook his head. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  She wasn’t sure what the expression on her face communicated, but she knew what the thought in her head was. How could two so very different people like each other so much? “It’s nothing.”

  “I’m not a greedy businessman. I’m not my father.” He loosened the tie that was part of his disguise. “I don’t want to be like my father.” Bitterness tainted his words. He studied her for a moment. “What are you thinking?”

  “I have this list that my bargain hunter friends helped me come up with, for the perfect mate, which, as you know, needs to happen after I graduate.”

  “Let me guess, must dress in a suit and tie is on the list.”

  She shook her head. “But being financially stable is. I don’t understand throwing away an opportunity like this.”

  “’Cause it’s not the opportunity I want. I wouldn’t be happy running the hotel. I never cared about money, about being rich. Look what it did to my dad.”

  “Not the opportunity you want? I wanted to major in art. Sometimes you’ve just got to be practical.” She rooted through her purse for change. She didn’t even like soda. It was easier than looking at Xabier … continuing the conversation in which it became more and more obvious that they were a mismatch. What he said made no sense at all. She had been impractical and rebellious only twice in her life. In high school, she’d become a cheerleader against her academically minded parents’ wishes, and she had briefly taken to shoplifting in college to deal with stress.

  “What else is on the list?”

  She studied the drink choices. Dr Pepper or Sprite. “Just things.” Choices. Practical or spontaneous. Xabier or not Xabier.

  He grabbed her by the hand and twirled her around. “‘Must love to wear disguises and chase bad guys.’” He pulled her toward him. “Is that on your list?”

  The warmth of his hand on the middle of her back relaxed her. She sighed. “No, but maybe it should be.”

  It was close to dinnertime by the time Ginger parked the rental car and walked the long distance to the hotel. The Strip had begun to gear up for a night of activity. Flashing neon invited people to lose their money at a rapid pace. Even though the street was still cut off to car traffic, throngs of people moved up and down the sidewalk. She passed the lot that ran parallel to the Wind-Up. The garage sales had closed down for the night. An orange glow emanated from some of the camper windows. A few merchants threw sheet covers over their tables.

  She stood outside the big doors painted in bubblegum colors. How quickly things change. Two days ago, she had been a different person with very different dreams. She massaged her shoulders and neck. What a day … and it wasn’t over yet. From a pay phone in the police station, she’d reached Earl on his cell phone. He said he would be waiting for her in the lobby.

  She pushed open the doors and stepped onto the checkerboard floor. No one was behind the counter. A young couple and a woman in a waitress uniform sat on the lobby couches … and there was Earl. The man in the straw cowboy hat with the peacock feather, flannel shirt, and Carhartts looked out of place leaning against a Roman column. The closed doors to the convention floor framed him. Someone had neglected to take down the poster on the easel that said Welcome Inventors. Earl lifted his chin in recognition. Her footsteps echoed as she walked across the polished floor.

  “Hey.”

  He took his hat off and twirled it in his hands. “Hey, right back at you.”

  Warming up with small talk and mincing words struck her as tedious. They needed to get this thing resolved. Might as well go for the jugular. “What did you mean out there by the camper when you said I was right?”

  He turned slightly toward the closed convention doors. “I wanted this thing so bad.” He rubbed the brim of his hat. “I didn’t mean to make you feel … like you didn’t matter to me.”

  He looked cute standing there. “But you did.” Cute or no cute, he still had some explaining to do.

  “Don’t you like me to work hard?”

  “Not when you forget my name and make me feel like a prop in the Earl Becomes Famou
s show.” She stepped toward him.

  “I want to invent something that changes the world.” He bent the brim of his hat back and forth. “I’m not getting any younger. I want my life to matter.”

  “Earl, you are looking at the wrong scorecard.” She raised her eyes to the high ornate ceiling. “Dustin Clydell didn’t get to take any of this with him. He left behind three empty people he could have poured his life into.”

  He studied her for a moment rubbing his razor stubble with his knuckles. “I sure don’t want to end up like him.”

  “Me either. Death by squirrel is a horrible way to go.” She waited for him to smile at her joke before grabbing his hand. “Welcome back, Earl Salinski.”

  “Come here.” He pulled her close, swaying while he held her.

  Hugs from Earl were better than half-price sales. She stopped swaying. But they needed to have a clean slate in every way. “Earl, why did you lie about what time you got to the hotel? I’ll understand if you were just thinking about how questioning from the police would take you away from the convention floor.”

  “I didn’t lie.”

  She searched his eyes. “But I saw you on the convention floor.”

  He pulled back from the hug and brushed her cheek. “I have agreed to stop being such a workaholic jerk. Now you have to do something for me.”

  Ginger nodded. “Okay.”

  “I know what your eyes told you. But I’m asking you to have a little faith in me and believe that I am telling the truth.”

  “Have faith in what I know about you, not in what I saw?”

  “Kind of like we have to do with God sometimes.”

  Mallory stood at her living room window. A veil of gauzy gray stretched over the sky, signaling the coming sunset. Her conversation with Ginger Salinski had made things more confusing rather than clearer. Ginger had motive and suspicious activity after the murder.

  Beebe meowed from the kitchen again. Mallory pushed open the swinging door.

  “Hey, baby.” She gathered the cat into her arms. “How’s my new roommate?” The cat purred. “Thanks for giving me a reason for coming home. I was getting pretty lonely.” Company was nice. Maybe if she had a life other than work, she would be less inclined to make food her best friend. It had been so long since she had done anything social, she wasn’t sure where to start.