A text from the school told me they’d canceled all afternoon classes due to inclement weather. Finally!
I looked up at Zeblon who seemed lost in his coffee cup.
I said, “So, was that some type of parlor trick or something?”
“Was I right?” He said.
“If you’re so sure of your abilities, then you should be confident you were right.”
“Oh, I’m confident. I just wanted to hear you say it. It’ll help you convince yourself of my capabilities.”
A strange thing occurred to me as I contemplated Zeblon’s demeanor. I wondered whether I was wrong when I assumed he was arrogant. Maybe he just came across as arrogant without meaning to.
“Arrogance is not a likable trait,” I said anyway.
“I have no reason to be arrogant,” he said between sips of coffee. “I simply state facts as I see them. Arrogance is useless like so many other common character traits. I can’t help what people think about me. I’m simply determined to reveal the truth. Folks will get angry, lash out, and accuse me of arrogance. I don’t care. The truth must be brought to light, and I have a gift for doing just that. I’ll use that gift regardless of how people react to it.”
“Then why do you care whether I think you were right about how my morning went?” I asked trying to trip him up.
If nothing else, Zeblon Jack was very interesting, and I was beginning to see how sharing an apartment with him might be both fun and intellectually challenging. Probably psychologically challenging too.
Zeblon answered, “Because I’m concerned about the truth regarding your professor’s murder.”
“So, you’re interested in making sure an innocent young man doesn’t go to prison for a murder he may not have committed.”
“I didn’t say that, and that’s not what I meant. I’m only interested in the truth.”
“But if you’re going to be a lawyer, you should be interested in justice.”
“I am a lawyer,” he chided. “I admit justice is not my primary goal. But if my bringing out the truth resulted in justice, what would it matter how I felt emotionally about my clients?”
Okay, I’d had enough. No more battle of the minds for the time being.
I asked again, “So, are you going to tell me how you did it—how you accurately described the details of my morning?”
“So, I was right.”
“Yes, okay. You were right. How did you know?”
“I knew from a combination of deductions and guesswork.”
“Guesswork? Isn’t that dangerous?”
“If the guesses aren’t based on facts, yes.”
“What were your facts?”
“Three facts: The belt to your overcoat, the scent of perfume, and soda.”
Wow. He threw me a curve there.
I said, “You’re going to have to explain yourself.”
Zeblon put his fingers on his chin, “First, you don’t strike me as the sweater type. And if you were to wear one, I’d imagine you’d find one that’s not two sizes too small. It looks awkward and uncomfortable.
“Yesterday morning, it was freezing outside, but it got much warmer later in the day,” he continued. “So, yesterday morning, you put on your overcoat before you left the house, but at some point during the day, you left the coat in the front passenger seat of your car—”
“Wait a minute. Now you’re telling me how my day yesterday went?”
“Just this one part. It’s pertinent to my explanation about how your morning went.”
“But how could you have known that I—”
“Patience, my friend. In a moment, you’ll be surprised at how simple it all is. Just sit still and listen.”
“Fine,” I said as I put my coffee cup to my lips.
“Okay, as I was saying. At some point yesterday, you put your overcoat in the front passenger seat of your car because the temperature had risen significantly throughout the day. When you got back to your house last night, you forgot to grab the coat and bring it into the house with you. So, it stayed in the car all night. That’s why you couldn’t find it this morning.”
I couldn’t help myself. I had to ask, “But how could you know all of that? I’m wearing my overcoat now.”
“Are you wearing the belt?” he asked.
I looked down. I wasn’t.
He read the expression on my face, “Where’s the belt now?”
“I don’t know,” I said perplexed.
“I do. It’s in the front passenger-side floorboard of your car. I noticed part of it hanging out the bottom of the door when we walked by your car a few minutes ago. It’s obvious you put your overcoat in your car between classes yesterday. You threw it in from the passenger side, and being in a hurry, you shut the door with part of the belt hanging out.
“I also deduced from the belt that you were in a hurry this morning as well. When you got into your car this morning to leave your house, you noticed your coat lying on the seat. After arriving at the school, you were in a hurry, but you were also cold and probably wanted to cover up that hideous sweater you’re wearing. So, you parked your car on campus, got out, and then reached back in to grab the coat, but the coat gave resistance. You simply pulled harder because you were in a hurry. The belt was caught in the passenger-side door, and that’s what caused the resistance. But you didn’t notice that. You just wanted to yank the coat free and get going. So, you kept tugging until it came free.”
At this point, I was scratching my head. It felt eerie to me. The way he explained everything was as if he’d been standing there watching all of this unfold. It had happened exactly the way he described.
“But what about my bumping into a lovely young lady? How could you possibly know that?” I asked.
“I had already deduced you were in a hurry. You probably weren’t watching where you were going which is typical of somebody who's in a rush. The strong scent of a woman’s perfume on your overcoat told me it was a woman and that you must have bumped into her. That’s how her perfume got on your coat.”
“Okay, and how did you know she was lovely and that she told me somebody had murdered my professor?”
“I did some guesswork from some observations I’ve made about life in general. For one, I’ve observed that it’s usually the lovely women who wear the pleasant perfume, especially that particular brand—stop looking at me like that. That’s just my personal observations. I didn’t intend to insult any women. But there’s something else – that text you received earlier. It was from her. Therefore, I assumed she was the one you ran into earlier this morning since the message seemed to be a continuation of an earlier conversation.”
“That’s a lot of assumptions,” I said. He was exactly right, but how did he guess so correctly?
“I never told you whether that text was from a male or a female.”
“You didn’t tell me with your mouth, but your expression spoke volumes. Your face took on an enchanted expression when you looked down and saw who the text was from.”
“It did not!” I said in an unconvincing protest.
“Oh yes, it did my friend. I might’ve been born in the dark, but it wasn’t yesterday. I know a smitten man when I see one.”
“I’m not smitten.”
Zeblon sipped his coffee and muttered behind his cup, “If you say so.”
I was ready to change the subject when my phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number, but it turned out to be Clay Brown calling from the police department.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Samuel. It’s Clay. You’re not going to believe where I’m calling from.” He was speaking in quick, excited breaths.
“From the police department,” I said.
“How’d you know that? Never mind. Listen, I need your help. I’ve only got this one phone call, and they’re not giving me much time.”
“Why did you choose me to call?”
“You’re the only responsible person I know. I couldn’t call my paren
ts…no way! And I didn’t want to call the coach either. He’d probably chew me out for missing practice—arrested or not.”
“What do you want me to do, Clay?”
“I need a lawyer. A good lawyer. They said they’d appoint me a lawyer if I couldn’t afford one. Well, you and I both know I can’t afford one, and you know the kind of lawyer I’d get from them. Do you know any lawyers?”
“Why would I know any lawyers in Tennessee?” I stopped short. Zeblon was looking at me like a Doberman who’d just heard a faraway sound in the neighborhood.
“Hold on a second Clay.”
I put Clay on hold and said to Zeblon, “He’s asking if I know a lawyer.”
“Actually, I think he’s asking if you know a good lawyer. Do you?”
“No. I mean, yes. I don’t know. Listen, Zeblon, are you for real? I mean, yes, I was pretty impressed with that stunt you pulled in reciting the events of my day with detailed accuracy. But can you really do this? Clay is my friend, and he’s desperate. He needs good representation.”
“Are you sure he’s innocent?”
“He couldn’t have murdered anybody. I’d stake my reputation on it.”
Zeblon rubbed his chin and looked directly into my eyes as if he were trying to see the back of my head from the inside.
“I trust your judgment, Samuel. And yes, I’m for real. Your friend will find no better lawyer in the state than Zeblon Jack. And, I’ll do it for free.”
“For free?” I said doubtfully. “You get what you pay for. Haven’t you heard that quote before? Never mind. You’re in.”
Zeblon needed to work on his ego, but I had no choice. I didn’t have a clue how to go about finding a good lawyer, and I was certain I couldn’t find one who would work for free.
I went back to my phone, “Okay, Clay. Listen, don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of the lawyer. You just sit tight and do what they tell you. We’ll get you out of this. I promise.”
Eight
ZEBLON AND I DECIDED to meet up later that evening to look at a place he had in mind for us to live. I was to meet him at nine p.m. at 690 Harp Street in Murfreesboro.
I asked him why he wanted to meet so late, and would someone be able to show us the apartment at that time of night? He assured me it would be fine.
At eight thirty, I put the address into the app on my phone. The address was seventeen minutes from the house where I lived, and that was only four minutes from the school. Since the address Zeblon gave me was in the opposite direction, the place where we’d be staying was twenty-one minutes from campus. That was a little further than I’d hoped, but it was manageable.
The app took me across the interstate and into a somewhat swanky neighborhood in a well-to-do part of the county. An ornate sign welcomed me at the entrance of the main street of the sub-division. It said - THE WOODS.
I thought I’d entered the wrong address into the app when the wide road with elaborate landscaping filling the grassy median curved left and revealed a parade of some of the most beautiful homes I’d ever seen. I’d heard Zeblon’s family had money, but I couldn’t believe he planned for us to live in such ostentatious quarters.
The main road narrowed and curved left into the woods. I drove about two hundred more yards when someone suddenly jumped out from behind a large oak tree right into my path. I slammed on my brakes and barely stopped short of him. It riled my nerves, and I was tempted to jump out and give the careless pedestrian a piece of my mind. Then I feared it might be a carjacking attempt. I checked to make sure my doors were locked.
When I looked up, the man was waving me over to the side of the road. It was just a kid. In fact, it was Zeblon.
“What is he doing?” I thought.
Zeblon walked to my side window. I rolled it down, and he said, “Pull your car off to the right onto that narrow gravel service road. Make sure you pull in far enough so no one can spot your car from the main road.”
“What in the world is going on Zeblon? What’s all this about?”
Zeblon looked to his left and then to his right mysteriously, “Just do it and hurry up. You’ve got about two minutes.”
“Okay, okay,” I said as I turned the steering wheel hard right and pulled onto the gravel. I parked my car behind some brush to the side of the service road and got out to see what Zeblon was up to. He ran behind me and was standing outside my door.
“What’s all the mystery about, Zeblon? What’s going on?” I said a little fired up.
“Shhh, keep your voice down. Here they come.”
“Here who co—”
Zeblon put his hand over my mouth and looked through the shrubs toward the main road. A police cruiser drove by slowly and cautiously.
“Whew, that was close,” Zeblon said as he pulled his jacket sleeves down toward his gloved hands. Then He walked into the woods.
“Listen, Zeblon. Where’s the apartment we’re supposed to be viewing? All I see around here are a bunch of mansions…and trees,” I added nearly whacking my head on a low-hanging branch. “What is this place?”
The words barely escaped my lips when the trees opened up and revealed a large well-manicured yard. At its center was a beautiful two-story house—make that a mansion.
“Don’t you recognize it?” Zeblon asked looking at me suspiciously.
“Of course not,” I said. “I’ve never seen this neighborhood before tonight much less this house.”
“Good, that means you’re innocent,” Zeblon said as he traipsed across the lawn toward the house.
I stood still for a moment trying to absorb what he’d just said. Then I ran after him.
“What did you mean when you said it means I’m innocent?”
“It means you didn’t murder Professor Joelson.”
“Of course, I didn’t murder Professor Joelson. Why would you even think such a thing?”
“I never really thought so, but you were a student of his, right?”
“Yeah, so?”
“Every one of his students could be a suspect. I wanted to go ahead and mark your name off the list at the outset.”
I struggled a bit to keep up with Zeblon. The house was atop a steep hill, and I wasn’t wearing my athletic prosthetic.
“Slow down a little, will you. I’m not equipped for hiking up hills tonight.”
Zeblon looked down at my leg, “Sorry, but we’ve got to hurry. I’ve been on that service road for almost two hours. The police are making it a point to drive by this place once every half hour.”
“How’d you get here? And why couldn’t I park in the driveway? Are we going to be renting a room from the people who live here?”
I fired those questions off after we’d finally made it up the hill and to the house.
Zeblon scanned the front of the house, “I took a cab. This is Professor Joelson’s house. If I’m not mistaken, and I rarely am, that window over there looks right into the professor’s study.”
He walked over to the window and studied it closely. After about a minute, he led us around to the back of the large house, up onto a deck, then to the entrance door off the deck.
He pulled a strange-looking kit out of his pocket and went to work on the lock. In a matter of seconds, the lock gave way, and he was standing there with the door open and a devilish grin on his face.
He swept his arms toward the open door, “After you.”
“We can’t go in there. You’re insane. What in the world are we doing here? We’re going to end up in jail with Clay.”
“Have you ever had a speeding ticket?” he asked.
I scratched my head dumbfounded. Zeblon was always tossing out these seemingly off-the-wall and off-the-subject questions.
I decided to play along, “No, I haven’t.”
“Have you ever sped?”
“Well—uh—yes, I have. I’ve caught myself speeding several times over the years.”
“Did you ever get in trouble for it?”
“No, I told you I’v
e never had a speeding ticket.”
“But you just admitted you've sped several times, yet you’ve never gotten into trouble for speeding. Why not?”
“Because I never got caught.”
“Exactly!” Zeblon exclaimed triumphantly as if he’d just won a world-class chess match. “And we won’t get in trouble for entering this house because we won’t get caught. That is…” Zeblon glanced at his watch, “we won’t get caught if you don’t stop standing idle and get in the house. I’ve got to get a look at the professor’s office.”
He turned and walked deeper into the house.
I looked both ways carefully, shook my head, and walked through the doorway gently shutting the door behind me.
I couldn’t believe I had put the freedom and possibly the life of my friend into this maniac’s hands.
Nine
PROFESSOR JOELSON’S OFFICE WAS spacious with old-fashioned design and décor just as you would expect from a professor who taught dead languages. Well, under the circumstances, I guess dead isn’t the appropriate word to use. Let’s say ancient languages. Professor Joelson was Jewish and was an expert in ancient Hebrew.
Zeblon had duly commanded me not to touch anything in the room. In fact, he told me not to even breathe on anything. He took his gloves off and underneath he was wearing thin rubber gloves. He sprang from one spot to another with the ease and agility of a fox. One moment he would be climbing up one of the professor’s bookshelves. The next, he would be on the floor underneath the desk.
He flipped through a planner on the professor’s desk and said, “I see the good professor taught Hebrew and Latin. That’s quite a combination. You say you had him for a class?”
“Yes, I had him for Hebrew.”
“What exactly are you studying to be in life?”
There he went with another one of those questions.
“I originally planned to be a doctor and to specialize in oncology. But the accident changed all of that. Now, I’m hoping to become a physical therapist. The education required is slightly less demanding, and the pay, while less rewarding, is very good especially when you compare the lighter workload to that of a doctor.”
The Case Of The Death Book: A Zeblon Jack Mystery Book 1 Page 3
