The Paper Detective

by E. Joan Sims

  We lay down side by side on our stomachs in front of the French doors and looked out at the January night. The first days of the new year had brought warmer winds to melt the snow. With the lovely white blanket stripped away, the land looked stark and dead in the harsh green light of the mercury lamp.

  Aggie barked halfheartedly at a dry leaf bouncing across the yard in the wind, then fell asleep. I lay there listening to her soft little doggie snores, wondering why I was so down in the mouth. Mother was right, I should have gotten used to Cassie’s being gone by now. After all, she did have a life beyond hearth and home, and soon she would be leaving for good—that I could not deny. How had Mother coped so well, I wondered. The answer was obvious. She had a vast network of friends, not to mention her adoring Horatio. At the drop of the first lonely tear, I’m sure he was at her side with all manner of distractions. I had no one. And that was the problem. I was lonely.

  While I was deeply engrossed in writing a book the characters became my friends, or my enemies, depending on how well they got along with Leonard. But those were only paper acquaintances—I needed the flesh and blood kind.

  When the phone rang I tried to get up, but my stiff limbs were full of pins and needles. Mother came to the door and peered inside.

  “Paisley, dear, the phone is for you.”

  She held the cordless receiver out towards me and said clearly and distinctly, “It’s that charming Bert Atkins you’re so fond of, dear.”

  I managed to raise up on one stiff knee, grabbed the phone, and covered the mouthpiece with my hand.

  “For Pete’s sake, Mother!”

  She winked broadly and closed the door behind her.

  I flopped back down and accidentally landed on Aggie’s tail. She jumped up and bit the first thing she could reach.

  “Ahhhhh, shit!” I screamed as I flung the phone across the room and grabbed my left breast.

  “Damn dog!”

  I scrambled across the carpet on my hands and knees looking for the telephone.

  “I’m coming, Bert,” I shouted.

  “Please don’t hang up,” I whispered to myself.

  Finally I located the receiver under the upholstered ottoman and put it up to my ear. All I heard was a dial tone. Bert Atkins was gone.

  I pulled myself up on the sofa holding the phone against my wounded breast. Tears were starting to fall when he called again.

  “Hello,” I sniffed. “Bert? Is that you?”

  “Yes, Paisley,” he answered in a tightly controlled voice. “I can call back later if you have company.”

  “No, no. It’s only Aggie. The dog, that is. Her real name is Agatha Christie, but we call her Aggie. You haven’t met her. You would probably hate her. I know I do. I mean, I don’t really hate her, but…”

  I suppose I would have continued making nervously inane remarks, but mercifully, he interrupted.

  “Paisley, we need to talk.”

  “We do?” I squeaked.

  “I don’t think I should come to your home. I’ll explain why when I see you.”

  Bert calmly instructed me where to meet him in an hour. I would just have enough time if I didn’t change clothes. I ran through the house looking for my car keys and jacket.

  Mother waved me off with, “Have fun, dear. And put on some lipstick!”

  The little “hole in the wall” tavern he’d described was closing when I got there. I had driven faster than the law allowed and actually arrived early, but it looked like I was too late. I cursed my luck once again as I slowly circled the block looking for Bert’s old beat-up jeep. When I couldn’t see it anywhere, I decided to park across the street on the off chance that he was still inside. I pointed Watson’s nose in the direction of the bar and turned off the engine. I watched the door as stragglers came out. I hadn’t been waiting long when suddenly Watson’s back door opened and a man climbed inside.

  “Start the car and head back out of town,” he barked.

  After my heart came back out of my throat, I recognized Bert’s voice and hurried to obey.

  “You scared me to death! Did you have to scare me to death? Couldn’t you think of another way to shorten my life, like give me the plague, or something? My heart’s still pounding.”

  “I can’t hear you, Paisley. I left my hearing aid at home.”

  “How very convenient. How absolutely and astonishingly handy to have a hearing aid you can put on only when you’re ready to participate in a relationship. Meanwhile, I have to swallow your crap because you left your ears at home.”

  “Turn here,” he said quietly. It was obvious he hadn’t heard a word of my diatribe.

  I took the turn much too fast and was gratified to see him disappear from sight in the rearview mirror while he fought to keep his balance. I yearned for another corner, but he directed me to a narrow driveway on a dark side street. I pulled in and drove slowly all the way to the back. The drive ended in front of a small white bungalow that had seen better days. There was no light inside or outside. Only the pale reflection of the quarter moon kept the night from being pitch black.

  I turned around and faced him so he could read my lips in the moonlight. I was still somewhat miffed. After all, I thought, just who did he think he was? I opened my mouth to ask him that, when he cut me off for the second time that night.

  “Someone tried to kill me yesterday,” he said matter-of-factly.

  “Wha…what?”

  “You heard me, Paisley. There’s nothing wrong with your hearing.”

  “Yes, but…”

  “But what?” he spat. “You can’t believe it? Why not? You set me up. You paid me five thousand dollars to become a target. Now every unbalanced maniac who’s read one of your books and wants to go mano a mano with Leonard is gunning for me. And thanks to your fancy dressed little buddy, they know what I look like and where I live.”

  “But Pam wouldn’t…”

  “Oh, yes, she would. She did. Now I’m ‘www.leonardmurder.com’ and every nutcase online can look me up on the Internet and find a picture of my cabin. Hell, they can even see my poor old dog up close and personal!”

  Bert slammed his right fist into the palm of his left hand and cursed loudly and colorfully. I was impressed.

  “You must have some seafaring friends,” I remarked.

  He looked intently at me for a long moment and then burst out laughing. Soon we were both cackling like two old hens. It wasn’t long before my laughter turned to tears. I bit on my mittened thumbs and tried to stop. It seemed that all I ever did around this man was cry. He was tired of it, too.

  “For heaven’s sake, Paisley, quit sniveling. The bullet missed me by a mile. Murphy warned me at the last minute.”

  He was silent for a moment as he let that sink in. I stopped sniffing and wiped my eyes on my coat sleeve.

  “The nutcase didn’t fare so well,” he added tersely. “I got him right between the eyes.”

  “Oh,” I said in a very small voice. “Who was he?”

  “Not much of his face left to identify.”

  I fought to keep my dinner down while I pondered that information.

  “Then how do you know he was a Leonard fan? Don’t you have enemies coming out of the woodwork? Death threats for breakfast? Weren’t you expecting something like this?”

  “Not quite like this. I expected trouble, but from the family of a kid I put away for bank robbery. The one who shot me last year. His drunken dad and four big brothers swore they’d get even. But I suspect that life is so much more pleasant with their little juvenile delinquent behind bars they’ve forgiven me. Anyway, this guy was a professional. He had no identification in his pockets, no driver’s license, no credit cards, and the labels were cut out of all his clothes. He didn’t want anybody to be able to trace him.”

  “Then how do you know he was after Leonard and not you?”

  “This was in his jacket.”

  Bert handed me a dog-eared piece of paper. I turned on the map light and
opened it out. It was a page from Pen and Ink with a color photograph of Bert looking handsome and sleuthlike in his black turtleneck and tweed jacket.

  Chapter Ten

  Bert offered to buy me a cup of coffee, but I could tell he was only being polite. We both had our reasons for wanting to part company and get home as soon as possible. He was clearly still angry, and I was desperate to talk to Pam. I couldn’t believe that she would be so careless as to allow personal information on Leonard’s Web page. She had always been very careful about my privacy; why wasn’t she that concerned about Bert’s?

  I drove him back to the outskirts of town where he had left his car. We said a very dry and sterile farewell to each other. He got in his Jeep and drove away without a backward glance.

  All the way home I puzzled over our conversation. I had to agree that having your dog splashed all over the information superhighway would be very disturbing. It invited the unhealthy attention of unstable fans or worse. But to be fair, I couldn’t remember the article saying anything remotely specific. My memory was that it only referred to his vacation abode being a log cabin on a lake. Anybody who found him from that sparse a description would have to be a better detective than Leonard himself.

  Even though it was after midnight when I got home, I called Pam right away.

  “Paisley? Wha…what in the world? Is Cassie all right?”

  “Yes, Cassie is fine,” I answered dryly.

  “You’re not still mad about Helga are you?”

  “Helga? Oh, Blondie. No, well, I don’t know. It depends. Was she the idiot who put Bert’s cabin on the Web page?”

  Pam groaned loudly. “I was afraid you would be angry about that. I tried to talk the editor out of it, but he was so gung ho after reading the article, he said he wanted to capitalize on Leonard’s interview. Atkins showed that picture to Helga at the hotel. I guess he forgot to get it back when he left. Is Bert really mad?”

  “Only because someone went out to his cabin and tried to kill him.”

  “Oh, my God! He won’t sue will he? But, Paisley, what a great lead for a second article!”

  “Not on your life. And no, I don’t think it would occur to him to sue, but he should. It was a major breach of privacy. I can’t believe you let this happen, Pam.”

  “I’m really sorry, Paisley. All I can say is that I never thought anyone would be able to put enough information together to locate exactly where the man lived. One log cabin looks like another to me, and big red dogs are a dime a dozen. But I’ll scratch the Web page tomorrow. And I’ll send Bert a personal letter of apology. Anything else I should do?”

  I sighed deeply, “No, I guess not.”

  “Are you still hot for this guy?”

  “Pam, I never said I was hot for anyone. As a matter of fact, I’m perfectly happy on my own. I have been quite content to be independent and free of some man telling me what to do, thank you very much. Bert Atkins is way too bossy and obstinate, and on top of that, he’s stingy with his hearing aid batteries.”

  “What? Atkins is deaf?”

  “As a door knob.”

  “Then that must be why he can’t hear your little heart going pitter pat every time he comes near.”

  “Goodnight!” I shouted.

  Mother was in the kitchen warming up milk when I stomped in looking for something to eat. She had on her new floor-length red velvet dressing gown, and even though she was ready for bed, she looked like a million dollars. There wasn’t a silver-white hair out of place, and the lack of makeup only accentuated her patrician good looks.

  She looked at my own disheveled appearance and decided quite wrongly that now was the time for some maternal guidance.

  “Paisley, dear, you must control yourself. You have been a veritable hurricane of emotion lately. I’m so glad my parents taught me to keep my feelings to myself. Your sleeve is not the place to wear your heart. Paisley, where are you going?”

  “Arrrgh!”

  “You sound just like Aggie, dear. That is so amusing.”

  “’Night, Mother!”

  My bedroom was chilly. I slipped into my pajamas as quickly as possible and crawled under the fluffy down comforter on my bed.

  I closed my eyes knowing that sleep was a long way off. There were too many things whizzing through my mind. It took longer than usual for my body heat to warm up the little cocoon between me and my duvet. I shivered and found myself wishing for the warmth of the big fireplace in Bert’s cabin.

  With some effort, I managed to put all thoughts of Bert and the time we’d spent together out of my mind and concentrate on the problem at hand. After about an hour of brain work, I decided that something other than the magazine interview and Web page had directed Bert’s would-be killer to the cozy little cabin on the lake. The answer might be somewhere in one of my books, but I really had a hard time accepting that premise. It was far more logical to assume that the dead man really was one of Bert’s enemies. After all, he had spent a lifetime making them.

  Before I fell asleep, I decided to go about finding the answer the same way Leonard would: eliminate the obvious before you worry about the unknown.

  The next morning, I called Danny to ask some questions about the man his stepfather had shot.

  “Miz DeLeon, you know I’m not allowed to tell you anything about a case under investigation.”

  “I didn’t ask you who he was, Danny. I asked you if you knew who he was.”

  “Well, okay, that’s different,” he sighed. “We ran his fingerprints through the national computer data base. We uncovered his identity late yesterday. More than that I really couldn’t say.”

  “Just tell me this much, please,” I begged with my fingers crossed. “Where is he from?”

  “Sorry, Miz DeLeon.”

  I hung up the phone thinking that if I were still a possible candidate for mother-in-law, Danny might have been more forthcoming. But that was unfair. He was just doing his job. Then it occurred to me that he might have informed law enforcement agencies in neighboring counties of the incident. The Chief of Police in Rowan Springs was Andy Joiner. We had become good friends since I came back here to live. Maybe he would tell me what Danny had found out.

  I always enjoyed driving to town. Each time I circled the courthouse square, I was happy that I had come back home again. Everywhere I looked, I saw a familiar smiling face. Rowan Springs was like the Baby Bear’s bowl of porridge, it was just right. It was small enough that you knew almost everyone, but large enough to maintain a semblance of privacy. I loved it.

  Andy Joiner had been Chief of Police in Rowan Springs for the last ten years. He was fair and firm and fiercely honest. I trusted him, and his wife liked my books.

  Andy’s new office was next to the station house of the fire department. Fire trucks were high on my list of favorite things. Rowan Springs had just bought a new one and I hadn’t seen it yet. Despite the cold weather, the huge garage door was open. Inside, two firemen in heavy sweaters and boots were waxing the big shiny red truck. I stood and watched admiringly as they polished mirrors and chrome fittings until they sparkled.

  “You should see your face! That’s the same way Constance looks when we go by Wood’s Jewelry Store and she sees that diamond pendant she wants in the window.”

  I turned and smiled at the tall rangy man in khakis.

  “Buy it for her, Andy. I’m surprised you didn’t get it for Christmas.”

  “You’re looking at the reason Connie didn’t get her pendant.”

  “The fire truck? Why?”

  He gave me a wry smile and tucked his big hands in his pockets.

  “Come on in the office. It’s cold out here.”

  Andy held the door open and ushered me inside. The four white walls of his new digs reminded me of the inside of a white plastic ice bucket. A few pieces of cheap chrome office furniture and ugly grey commercial carpet did nothing to warm the place. The run-down office he used to have on the other side of the square had a lot more
character.

  He sat uncomfortably stiff behind the white Formica table that was his new desk while I sat opposite him in an ugly black vinyl director’s chair. He looked at me from underneath bushy salt-and-pepper eyebrows.

  “Awful, ain’t it?” he acknowledged.

  We looked at each other and laughed heartily. I finally wiped my eyes and answered him.

  “I take it Constance didn’t get to decorate?”

  “Something like that,” he nodded. “This is the new format for the state. All the new county offices have to follow the same pattern. The powers that be don’t want money spent on anything but the basics.”

  “Give it some time, Andy. You’ll warm up the place. And those powers will probably be gone in another three years.”

  “I just hope I can hold out until then.”

  “What do you mean? Does that have something to do with the new fire truck, too?”

  He got up, walked over to the window, and looked out at his town.

  “With the fire truck and the new sewer line at Pumpkin Creek and the replacement pump for the water treatment plant. And probably a half dozen other big ticket items the community needs just as bad.”

  He leaned back against the window ledge and faced me.

  “This is a little town, Paisley, with a small tax base. There’s only so much money to go around. For the last couple of years it’s been touch and go to make the county payroll each month. I turned down my regular pay raise twice just so I wouldn’t have to let one of my men off. I don’t know how long I can keep that up. Connie and the kids deserve to have some of the things they want.”

  I didn’t know what to say. The big shiny red fire truck I had so admired lost its luster. I remembered the lean years Cassie and I had spent after Rafe disappeared. It was tough to work hard and still not be able to provide enough for your children.

  “Enough of my grousing,” he said. “Did you come to town to see that shiny red monster, or me?”

  I smiled. “You, definitely, you. I was hoping you could help me with some information.”

  “Unless it’s got something to do with that incident at Bert Atkins’s cabin at the lake a couple of day’s ago, I’ll be glad to help.”