The Paper Detective

by E. Joan Sims

  Copyright Information

  Copyright © 2004 E. Joan Sims.

  All rights reserved.

  Published by Wildside Press LLC

  www.wildsidepress.com

  Dedication

  Dedicated to my one true love—

  my husband Luis—

  todavia “te amo muy mucho”

  Chapter One

  I lounged back against the comfortable arm of the red chintz sofa in the library and gazed out the double French doors at the snow. Flakes as big as goose feathers had fallen softly and steadily all night long. Deep pillowy drifts piled up next to the orchard fence and around the base of the fruit trees, and according to the weatherman, more snow was on the way.

  Three mating pairs of cardinals hunted and pecked on the sparkling diamond-white surface where Cassie had tossed out some bread crusts earlier. Only a few crumbs remained.

  The bright red birds on the glistening white snow made me think of a fairy tale my Grandmother Howard used to read to me about a princess with snow-white skin. She had pricked her finger with a needle. When that drop of red blood appeared on the fairest of hands, a whole kingdom had fallen asleep for one hundred years.

  I yawned and turned back to the crackling fire that burned merrily in the big hearth. My bowl of buttered popcorn was almost gone, but I lacked the energy to go back to the kitchen for more. I was considering a serious nap when the phone rang.

  When you have a beautiful, unattached, twenty-year-old daughter, there is only the remotest chance that you will ever have to answer the telephone. The possibility of the call being for anyone other than her is even smaller. Therefore, I was surprised and even a little annoyed when I heard Cassie yelling at me from the hallway.

  “Mom! Telephone! It’s New York—Pam.”

  Ordinarily, I would have loved to hear from Pamela Alison Winslow. She was my agent and more than a little responsible for making sure that the whole wide world read my mystery novels. Unfortunately, she was also the one who insisted that I use the pen name of Leonard Paisley and let that imaginary schmuck take all the credit for my hard work. I did realize, however, that a rough, tough, hard-boiled detective could make more money selling books than a middle-aged woman who is afraid of spiders—at least for the time being.

  Nobody seemed to mind when it was just little old me writing children’s books. Bartholomew the Blue-eyed Cricket had gotten me and Cassie through the lean years after my husband—her father—had disappeared from our home in San Romero. We had escaped the worst of the revolution in that beautiful, but politically torn country and gone to Manhattan to live. It was there that Pam, who had been my college roommate, suggested Bartholomew might be our meal ticket instead of simply an entertaining bedtime story for my little daughter.

  Ten years of insects and small, furry rodents was about all I could squeeze out of my imagination, and once again, Pam saved my bacon by suggesting I write mysteries. I, excuse me, Leonard was a big hit from the start. We had just published our third book.

  My new source of income had allowed me to move back to Meadowdale Farm in western Kentucky where I grew up. My elegant and stylish mother, Anna Howard Sterling, was delighted that I was home to stay, even though we had our confrontations from time to time—mostly about my being neither elegant nor stylish.

  It was three weeks before Christmas, and I was taking a well-deserved vacation in order to be able to really enjoy having Cassie home from university for the holidays.

  “Damn it, Pam!” I said as I picked up the phone. “I thought we agreed I could take some time off? I told you to tell everybody I’ve gone fishing.”

  “Fishing?” she protested. “According to the weatherman, it’s sixteen degrees there!”

  “Ice fishing. You cut a hole in the ice, warm the worms in your mouth, and…”

  “Paisley, you know I wouldn’t bother you unless it was absolutely necessary.”

  “No!” I insisted.

  “Now, Paisley, you’re being childish.”

  “No. No. No.” I shook my head vigorously even though she couldn’t see me.

  “You don’t even know what I’m going to ask you,” she wheedled.

  “Pam, I recognize that tone of voice. It’s the same one you used in college when you wanted…”

  “That history term paper was mine from start to finish. I didn’t use any of your notes. Come on, Paisley. Just give it a listen, please?”

  “Okay, okay.” I conceded. “It is almost Christmas. I haven’t had time to shop. Consider this your gift.”

  “Great. Now, don’t say ‘no’ right away. Be reasonable and let me finish. Promise?”

  “Oh, boy. I knew this was going to cost me. I should have gotten you something from K-Mart.”

  “The feature writer from Pen and Ink magazine has contacted me. They want an interview with Leonard.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding!”

  “I asked you not to interrupt,” she said.

  “Are you out of your tiny little mind?”

  “Ten thousand dollars worth of out of my mind,” she chortled.

  That did put a new light on things.

  “You want me to grow a mustache?” I asked.

  Pam laughed. “It wouldn’t hurt; but then again, it won’t help. No, we’ll have to find someone else to be Leonard. Got any ideas?”

  “Pam, this is the craziest…”

  “Oops, another call. Gotta go. Let me know when you find ‘Leonard.’ And remember, it’s not just the money. It’ll be terrific publicity.”

  Cassie came in as I hung up the phone. Aggie, her temperamental Lhasa Apso, trailed despondently at her heels. The puppy knew her mistress was all dressed up to go somewhere without her, and when Cass plopped down on the sofa opposite mine, Aggie hopped up in her lap as if trying to anchor her down.

  Cassandra looked beautiful. Hair the color of mahogany framed her perfect oval face and fell straight and shining past her shoulders. A light touch of eye shadow over her brown eyes made them appear even larger and more mysterious against her porcelain skin. The ankle-length burgundy velvet dress clung to her tall, slender body more than I would have liked it to, but I knew better than to say anything.

  “Wow! You look terrific. What are you all dolled up for?”

  “Nothing much. Danny’s taking me to a Christmas concert in Morgantown.”

  “Hmm, Danny,” I muttered, as I tried to see him in Leonard’s skin.

  “What?”

  “Has Danny ever done any acting? High school play, community theater?”

  “Sure. His stepfather showed me some pictures. He said Danny was the best Peter Pan ever.

  Chapter Two

  When Danny arrived, I inspected him with Leonard’s imaginary physique in mind, but Danny didn’t pass muster. For one thing, he was too young, and for another, he was too good looking. Tall, blonde, and handsome, he barely escaped being pretty. I would have to look elsewhere, but seeing Danny gave me an idea of where “elsewhere” might be.

  Danny Hall was the new police chief of a neighboring county. He was the youngest to hold that office since Robert “Pee Wee” Atherton, in 1909. I only knew that little piece of trivia because Pee Wee had been a distant relative. Danny had taken over temporarily when his stepfather was wounded in a robbery attempt. After Bert Atkins took early disability retirement, Danny was officially appointed to his office.

  Bert Atkins would be the perfect “Leonard.” He was as tall as Danny but his looks were craggy and worn. His steel-grey hair was cropped close to his skull, and his dark blue eyes could burn into yours like a laser. When they stood side by side, Danny appeared inches taller because Atkins affected a casual slouch. Some said it was from his early days in the Marines, when h
is height made him a bigger target. Mr. Bert Atkins looked lean and mean, I realized with a delighted shiver—lean and mean like Leonard.

  Atkins had been shot in the hip by a sixteen-year-old bank robber wanna-be almost a year ago. The last time I saw him was two months before that, when he came to us in search of answers about the death of a young woman in his jurisdiction. Cassie met his stepson that night, and they started dating shortly afterwards. Danny was serious. Cass was not. She had turned down at least two of his marriage proposals and dated several other young men in the meantime. Danny said he would keep on trying. I knew he didn’t stand a chance. I warned Cassie against giving him false hope, but she assured me they could remain friends. I think Bert was angry with us because of Cassie’s rejection of his stepson. He had refused several invitations to dinner and was just short of abrupt when either Mother or I called.

  Somehow I had to get past that gruff and angry façade. I had to convince Bert Atkins to be Leonard Paisley just for the interview. I had my work cut out for me. It wouldn’t be easy. Nothing about Bert Atkins was easy.

  When Cassie left, Aggie transferred her affection to me. The rough translation of that was: she hopped into my lap so I could keep her warm. Aggie hated cold weather. She especially hated snow. It stuck in between her paw pads and froze her toes. She was even more nasty-tempered in the winter, but she did treat me with a smidge more respect. I had told her when nobody was looking that if I kicked her lily-white ass out into the white snow no one would ever find her.

  When Mother finished watching her one television show of the week and came to join me, I told her about Pam’s call and asked her what she thought about my idea.

  “I’ve always thought you and Bert Atkins should get to know each other better. This is a perfectly lovely excuse to call on him, dear.”

  “I’m not looking for romance, Mother. This is serious business. Pam won’t let me off the hook this time. She’s tried to get me to produce a ‘Leonard’ before, but I’ve always managed to weasel out of it. Pen and Ink is too important a magazine to ignore.”

  “Then let her find someone in New York, dear. Leonard was her idea. There must be hundreds of actors up there who would be glad to do the job.”

  I had to smile. Mother thought less of New York than she thought of Siberia. “Up there” to her was as bad as saying “in hell” for anyone else.

  “Pam knows me better than that. She knows I would scream like a stuck pig if she picked somebody without me. I have to give her credit for that. She’s letting me call the shots on this one.”

  I pushed Aggie gingerly off my lap and went to look out at the cold winter night. The bare branches of the tall trees swayed and clacked against each other in the freezing wind. The top layer of snow swirled from ground to air and back again. I wondered if the owls and squirrels and other little creatures had a warm place to hide from old Jack Frost. And I wondered what in the world I was doing writing murder mysteries when I still had the mind-set for children’s books.

  Mother went to bed, but I waited up for Cassie. She came home at twelve on the dot. Danny walked her to the library door and when he leaned over to kiss her he saw me pretending to sleep on the sofa. He straightened up quickly and hugged her instead. Cassie tapped lightly on the door as he was leaving. I stretched and yawned like I had just awakened, then pretended to lurch sleepily over to let her inside.

  “Is that why you were asking about community theater, Mom? Are you thinking of taking up acting? Because if you are, forget it. You didn’t fool either one of us.”

  She took off her long woolen cape and sat down on the hearth to warm herself by the fire. “But thanks, anyway,” she sighed. “The last thing in the world I wanted was that kiss. I think you’re right. I’d better stop seeing Danny once and for all. I really hate it because he’s so much fun.” She sighed again. “I love being with him. I just don’t love him.”

  She looked at me for a response. I had none. Long ago I discovered it was best to stay out of my daughter’s love life. I did have to ask one thing, though.

  “Would it be a problem for you if I asked Danny’s stepfather to impersonate Leonard for an interview with a very important magazine? I won’t do it if it is.”

  “Don’t be silly, Mom. It’s not a problem for me. They haven’t seen each other much since Bert retired. Danny probably won’t even know.”

  “I thought Danny lived at home.”

  “He does. But Bert moved out as soon as he recovered from his hip surgery. He’s living way out by Jackson Lake in a cabin he built several years ago. Really roughing it from what Danny says. He doesn’t have electricity, or running water, or even a telephone.”

  “Did Danny and Bert have an argument? They seemed so close.”

  “I honestly don’t know, Mom. Danny doesn’t say much about his personal life.”

  She looked up with a sad little smile.

  “That’s one thing about him that bothers me. You know how I feel about family.”

  “Well, if you really don’t mind, I think I’ll try to get in touch with Ex-Chief Atkins. He would make the most perfect Leonard. Don’t you think, so?”

  “If you say so, Mom,” she sighed as she gazed sadly into the flames. “Although I really don’t think there is a perfect man anywhere.”

  I smiled. This was an old discussion and I could comment.

  “Remember what we said before? ‘Perfect’ would be boring!”

  Chapter Three

  The next day dawned beautiful and clear and even colder. The sun sparkled brightly on the snow, but wasn’t nearly warm enough to melt it. I called Danny at the Hall County Courthouse and asked him the best way to get in touch with his stepfather.

  “You have a four wheel drive, don’t you, Mrs. DeLeon?”

  “Yes, a Jeep Cherokee.”

  “Dad’s cabin is about twenty-five miles out the Sandlick Road. He’s on the far side of Jackson Lake. It’s a rough ride in the best weather. I don’t know if I would recommend you trying to get out there in this snow.” He laughed. “But if half the things Cassie says are true, that won’t make a bit of difference to you. Just be sure to take your cellular phone, plenty of blankets, and a couple of flashlights. I’ll be listening out in case you have any trouble. Cassie has my private phone number. Call me direct if you have a problem.”

  “Thanks, Danny, I really appreciate it. Is your stepdad all right? I mean, was the surgery on his hip successful?”

  “Yep.”

  Try as I might, that was the only information I could get out of Danny regarding the personal health and well being of Bert Atkins. I hung up the phone feeling as if I were going out in the snow looking for a grizzly bear.

  “Come on, Cassie,” I pleaded. “It’ll be fun! Just you and me and Watson.”

  “I don’t think a sports utility vehicle named after Sherlock Holmes’s sidekick qualifies as a person, Mom.”

  “Okay, then we’ll ask your grandmother.”

  “I don’t care if you ask the Atlanta Braves—I’m not going. This afternoon I’m telling Danny we can’t see each other any­more, and ‘any­more’ means starting right now and includes his whole family.”

  “Okay,” I grumped. “I understand. And you’re right. Maybe Mother will go.”

  She looked at me with raised eyebrows.

  “I don’t quite see Gran in a mountain cabin. Now if Christian Dior’s latest was something in a red plaid flannel and denim, you might have a chance at convincing her.”

  Cassie was right. Mother refused my invitation before I even finished asking. She, also, had a perfectly good excuse. Horatio Raleigh, her dear friend and companion, was suffering from a cold. She was taking him some homemade soup and a copy of my latest book, Virtual Violence.

  Horatio was the retired director of our town’s sole funeral home. He only went in to the “shop” when someone of note, or wealth, passed away and he was needed as a bereavement consultant. He had served in that capacity last weekend. The family
had chosen the super deluxe casket, so he had even attended the burial. It had been a cold and rainy day. His doctor said he would be in bed at least a week.

  I would have to go out the Sandlick Road alone.

  Watson was warmed up in no time at all, and by the time I had loaded some blankets and old quilts and extra flashlights in the back I was actually looking forward to our little adventure. Danny was probably exaggerating. A little snow never hurt anybody.

  Sandlick Road was about twenty miles out of Rowan Springs at the junction of the highway that led to the big lakes in the area. The lakes were there thanks to a big TVA dam project. The area was a great tourist attraction and even in the winter there was a fair amount of traffic. When I turned off the main highway, however, the traffic quickly thinned out. After a short time, I was all alone on the road.

  I set my odometer at zero so it would count the miles for me. The road had been cleared, but the snow from last night had formed an icy new surface, and I had to watch carefully for glassy spots. Even with Watson’s four wheel drive, I could feel the tires slipping and sliding in places.

  The banks on either side of the road were a combination of new drifts and old snow pushed off by the snowplow, higher in some places than the car. It was like driving down a long white tunnel.

  Wynonna was telling me in her own beautifully melodious way about the perils of country love when the big buck came out of nowhere. I saw his heels as he jumped over Watson’s hood, and I did all the wrong things instantly. I panicked and slammed on the brakes to avoid smashing the deer’s hindquarters just as I hit a spot of black ice. Watson spun around two or maybe three times before careening like a billiard ball off the mountains of hard-packed snow on the shoulders. We finally came to a jolting stop after bursting through the last barricade of snow sideways. The horn blew loudly as I slumped forward on the steering wheel.

  The blow to the car was on the passenger side, so my air bag didn’t deploy, and at some time during the wild ride, I hit my head very hard against the side window. I might have even blacked out for a moment or two until the blaring horn woke me up. That’s my only excuse for the stupid things I did next.