4 Murder at Breakfast

by Steve Demaree

  “So, tell me about your typical day.”

  “Well, most mornings I get up around 5:30, shower, read the newspaper, then head to the kitchen around 6:15. I’m expected to have the breakfast ready around 7:00. I vary it a little, but try to have the things every day that people expect. I fix something a little special a couple of times a week. On those days I get up a little earlier. Anyway, while the residents eat, I cook for those who work here. Normally I eat the same time they do, sometimes at the table with them, other times outdoors, if the weather is good. I love being outdoors, particularly in the spring. We are also allowed to take our food to our apartments. The two maids do that a lot, especially at lunch. Most of the staff eats together at night. I’m rambling, I know. Anyway, after breakfast I have a break, prepare food for lunch, have most of the afternoon off, and then fix dinner. Of course, I’m also the one who keeps the kitchen clean, washes the dishes. I try not to make too big of a mess, and I can put most everything in the dishwasher in one load, so cleaning up isn’t all that bad.”

  “What about today? Anything different than on other days?”

  “Well, of course it’s different when someone dies, but I didn’t know that until you told me, although I suspected something when Katherine didn’t answer her phone or her door.”

  “Let me see if I have this right. You were the one who cooked Mrs. Higgins’ breakfast today. Her lunch, too. You sent it up in the dumbwaiter yourself, and you were the one who noticed that she hadn’t sent her tray back down, and you mentioned that to Miss Draper.”

  “That’s correct. Didn’t get Russell’s tray back either. That’s unusual.”

  “Does everyone here eat the same thing?”

  “No, that wouldn’t work. We give each person three or four choices for each meal.”

  “And do you remember what the gentleman ordered for lunch today?”

  “Yes, he ordered fried fish, corn on the cob, and macaroni and cheese.”

  “And Mrs. Higgins?”

  “She had veal cutlet, green beans, and mashed potatoes.”

  I made a note. The food the deceased ordered was the food setting in front of her when Lou and I visited her room.

  “Was there anything unusual about Mrs. Higgins not sending her tray back down? Had she been late sending her tray down before?”

  “Oh, from time to time some of our residents get involved in watching TV and forget to send their tray and dishes back down, and I have to call them to remind them, and occasionally they’re sick and don’t feel like doing so. Sometimes, if they’re not feeling well, I’ll send up one of the maids with a key, but I never do that without the resident’s okay.”

  “But that wasn’t the case today?”

  “No, Russell said he sent his tray back down, so there was no reason to go to his apartment, even though he was sick. When Katherine didn’t answer her phone, I let Margaret know. She handled it from there.”

  “Were they the only two who ate lunch in their rooms today?”

  “Yes. Russell ate breakfast in his room and so did Elaine Jewell. I don’t know if you know that today was carpet shampooing day. Depending on the weather, a lot of our residents eat in their rooms on carpet shampooing day, but today was such a pretty day that everyone else went out. I don’t know why Katherine didn’t, but before she left the breakfast table she filled out a form and circled the things she wanted sent to her room for lunch. Of course shampooing day comes only once every three months, but everyone dreads that day. On that day people have a tendency to go out for the day or stay in their rooms. They don’t like to sit around downstairs half the morning and most of the afternoon.”

  “Mrs. Carpenter, I want you to think before you answer this question. Is it possible that anyone other than yourself touched the food that was on Mrs. Higgins’s tray today?”

  “Didn’t she get what she ordered? If she didn’t, I’d think she’d have called me and let me know. But back to your question, the only time anyone could have fooled with her food was when I took something out to the dining room table or brought something back, or when I took Russell’s tray out. But I believe that I took Katherine’s tray first. No, I believe I took Russell’s first, because he was sick, but I’m not sure. Sometimes, I’ll send things depending upon who eats more quickly. A lot of times I send the slowest eater’s food up first. Katherine usually eats more quickly than most of the others. I probably sent Russell’s first.”

  “Mrs. Carpenter, when was the last time you checked the dumbwaiter for Mrs. Higgins’s tray?”

  “Just before I started serving dinner.”

  “And the dumbwaiter was empty?”

  “No, it wouldn’t come back down. That means the door to the dumbwaiter was open in Katherine’s room.”

  “And did this concern you?”

  “Of course it did. That’s why I told Margaret what was happening.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Carpenter. You’ve been most helpful. We’re not yet sure what caused Mrs. Higgins’s death, so we’re asking everyone to stay on the premises until further notice. I’ll let you know if we have any more questions.”

  The woman looked shaken by my last comments. Up until then, other than when we first arrived, she seemed comfortable with my questions. At least she was willing to talk. And talk. Lou and I turned to leave. One of us was hoping that George had already found something else to do, something away from Parkway Arms. One of us wasn’t so fortunate.

  6

  “Oh, hi, Cy. Back so soon. Did you get a confession?”

  “Not only haven’t I gotten a confession, George, but I don’t even know if anyone was murdered. I’m waiting on Frank to get back with me, and it may be a day or two. In the meantime, some of us need to keep busy.”

  “Too bad, Cy. It looks like you won’t be able to go over to Lou’s house to Wii. We’ve been busy, too. Some of us were laughing so hard we’ve just barely recovered. I thought a couple of the guys weren’t going to make it. Would you like to see the part where you asked your lady friends to give you CPR, after you finished your exercise? Is that how you get women to kiss you, Cy?”

  ext-door neighbor your phone number, and tell her you’re single.”

  “I’ve heard about her. She and that dog really have the hots for you, don’t they? Has she proposed yet?”

  “Oh, she’s proposed many things.”

  “I haven’t let her get close enough, but that rat of hers did lick me.”

  “You mean her white French poodle?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “That means that she approves of you, Cy. The dog loves you. Maybe you’d better check with her to see if she has a Wii.”

  “Oh, she’s a dog, okay. Like I said, I’ll be glad to pass your name on to her.”

  I’d had enough of George’s talk about Lou’s dumb exercise board. I looked at my watch, decided we had enough time to question Wally Gentry before we called it a night. We would save the others for the next day.

  +++

  After consulting my map and pulling Lou away from our “friends,” we walked down the hall and knocked on another door. The man who answered looked to be about forty. His unruly hair told me that he’d been lying down.

  “Mr. Gentry, or would you rather I call you Wally.”

  “Wally’s fine. Who are you, and why are you here?”

  I introduced myself and Lou, told the maintenance man why we were there. Evidently, he hadn’t heard about Mrs. Higgins’s death. Margaret Draper must have kept her word. I talked to Wally for a few minutes. He told me about his day. He had spent some time outdoors, taking care of the flowers. The only times he had been inside were when he helped the maids move some of the furniture in the sitting room and the library so they could shampoo the carpet in both places, and when he ate lunch. Normally, he and the cook ate lunch outdoors, if the weather was nice, but it was a warm June day and both opted to eat lunch in the air-conditioned dining room. They were the only two who did. Wally had spent some of hi
s morning taking care of the flower beds. The only thing he noticed that was out of the ordinary was that the ladder that allowed him to wash the outside of the third-floor windows had been moved from its storage area and was propped up to Russell Cochran’s window. Wally wasn’t sure how long it had been there. Sometimes Russell used it to climb down from his apartment when he visited Katherine. Wally got a kick out of the older couple’s infatuations with one another. He was sorry there would be no more.

  “Wally, you said you ate lunch with Mrs. Carpenter. Do you remember if you ate off a plate or out of a Styrofoam container?”

  “Since we ate indoors today, we each had a tray and a plate. Company policy says that if we don’t eat in the dining room, we’re to use a Styrofoam container. But today Martha and I were the only two who had a plate and a tray.”

  “But those who pay to live here can have trays in their apartments?”

  “That’s right, as long as Martha sends them up in the dumbwaiters.”

  +++

  I looked at my watch. They would be locking the doors soon. Not that locked doors would keep me from questioning the employees and residents at Parkway Arms, but I didn’t want to get too involved too soon. To Frank it looked like someone had poisoned the woman’s lunch, but Frank was quick to tell us what we already knew. Things aren’t always what they appear to be.

  As we returned to Parkway Arms’ common area I noticed that George had left. After consulting with one of the officers he left behind, I found out that George had left two men to see that no one entered or exited the premises. One officer walked the grounds. The other took up residence on the comfortable couch within sight of the front door. In two hours they would change places. In four hours, another duo would replace them. I planned to keep them there only until I had questioned everyone in the building. True, there might be a murderer nearby, but I didn’t expect him or her to flee.

  +++

  Lou and I were silent as I drove the first part of the way to Lou’s apartment. After both of us had a few moments to reflect upon what we had learned so far, I turned to Lou.

  “So, what do you think, Lou?”

  “Well, it looks open and shut. If her lunch poisoned her, it looks like the cook is our murderer.”

  “So, what do you think?”

  “I think it’s time we had an easy case, but something tells me this isn’t it. Maybe the giant climbed down the ladder into Jack’s apartment before Jack could cut down the beanstalk. Maybe someone sneaked into the kitchen as soon as the cook walked out to the dining room. Maybe the Welcome Wagon was there to poison Mrs. Higgins as soon as her lunch arrived or had pulled her lunch back down as soon as the cook walked away, and sprinkled some arsenic on it, then sent it back up.”

  “I agree.”

  “You agree?”

  “Yeah, I think we won’t know until Frank tells us more.”

  +++

  I walked into my house, noticed my new computer setting there, and was struck blind by a brilliant idea. Well, maybe not blind, and not really a brilliant idea, but an idea nevertheless. I still had the paper where Louie wrote out what I needed to do to get online, but it was so simple I hardly had to refer to it anymore. I clicked on “My Favorites,” then clicked on Google and began to type. I keyed in the letters Lt. Dekker and then hit “enter.” I was appalled by what I saw. Someone had named a movie character after me. I even got to see a film clip from the movie, Last Action Hero. At least the man who played Lt. Dekker looked and acted nothing like me. I returned to the Google search, deleted “Lt.” and inserted “Cy.” I was relieved to find out I was the only Cy Dekker in existence, at least the only one anyone at Google knew about. At least the clown in the movie had no first name, or a different first name.

  I wiped out any reference to myself and typed in Sgt. Murdock. I was disappointed no nincompoop had ever played a character named Sgt. Murdock in a movie or on TV. As I did when I Googled myself, I replaced Sgt. with Lou, and died laughing at what I found. There actually is a Lou Murdock out in the real world, and the funny thing is he’s a tax collector in Wichita Falls, Texas. I must remember to tell Lou about his other self, but not right away. I must wait until after I tell Lou that I have a computer. He will be the first one I will tell. Maybe some day, after we solve Mrs. Higgins’s murder, I will drive by the hospital, park just outside the emergency room entrance, and tell Lou about my most recent purchase. That way, just in case he keels over after laughing hysterically and then realizes that I’m telling the truth, doctors and nurses would be standing by so that they could revive him.

  Before I shut off the computer and went to bed, I decided to Google one more person. There was no reference to Heloise Humphert. I always knew that that woman was a product of the Witness Relocation Program. If I only knew who wanted her dead, I could alert them, and then the authorities, so they could whisk her away and I would get a new neighbor.

  As I shut off the computer and turned away, I hit my knee on the computer desk. I forgot that God hears my innermost thoughts and was getting even with me. I wish I knew if He was getting even because I wanted to get rid of my neighbor, or because I was wishing her on someone else. I wasn’t really wishing the creature on anyone else. I would be content if she was out in the wilderness with bears and mountain lions. I wonder which they would go for first, the ugly one, or that little rat she keeps on a leash? I limped to the bedroom before God caused me to trip over the rug and land on my protrusion. Maybe I could get to sleep without thinking of her. Maybe.

  7

  I awakened the next morning, realized that it was Saturday, and then remembered that it was a working Saturday. Then I realized something worse. I’d worked quite a bit of the previous night on our latest murder case and never once reached into my pocket to pluck a morsel of chocolate from my stash of Hershey Almond candy bars I carried there. No wonder I hadn’t solved the case. I lay in the bed, dumbfounded. How could I have been so negligent? Did that mean that Lou had refrained from plopping a slew of M&Ms down the hatch? And then I remembered. I wasn’t working with the same Lou I used to work with. The Lou I knew, the one I grew up with, went to school with, served on the police department with, had been kidnapped and replaced with one of the Pod People. My Lou would never have considered yogurt to be one of the food groups. There have been disagreements among the masses as to how many food groups there are. Some people are specific enough to consider chocolate a food group, while others go with the grander scale of desserts, I waiver back and forth between the two. On most days I consider chocolate a necessary ingredient of the dessert food group, but I wouldn’t consider chocolate yogurt if there were such a thing. Nor chocolate tofu. Nor chocolate beets. Now, chocolate peanut butter wouldn’t be bad. I think I could handle a chocolate peanut butter and banana sandwich. Who knows? Maybe some day I will melt a Hershey bar and put it on top of a glob of peanut butter. On white bread. Wheat is too healthy. Or should I melt a couple of Reese’s Cups instead?

  All that salivating about food caused me to drool on my pillow. I followed the twelve step pattern designed to extricate myself from my bed, then stumbled to the bathroom, hoping that my eyes wouldn’t yet allow me to see what I looked like. I used the facilities and stumbled back to the bedroom to decide upon my clothing ensemble for the day. It was almost the mirror image of what I wore the day before, only a cleaner version. Once my drawers were seized from my dresser, I ambled to the shower to wake up so that I would be cognizant of the daily devotional I would read once I dressed, and the prayer I would lift up to God thanking Him ahead of time for the feast I would devour at the Blue Moon, and the healing he would deliver to Lou’s stricken body.

  +++

  I must not have prayed enough before I opened my back door as I left to pick Lou up on our way to the Blue Moon. I had barely stepped out the house and locked the door when I turned to find a white rat about to jump up and down on my ensemble. I didn’t want doggie drool on my khakis. I had lived next door to the Wicked Witch o
f the West long enough to know that if the varmint is on the premises the one capable of breaking any mirror was lurking nearby. Sometimes I hate it when I’m right.

  “Oh, Cyrus, my sweet. What better way to start your day than having Twinkle Toes greet you as you depart.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Seeing a ‘For Sale’ sign in your yard would’ve done more for me.”

  “Oh, Cyrus, you sly devil. You’re wanting me to move in with you. I’m game when you are.”

  “You don’t know how good that makes me feel, Miss Humphert. Just knowing you’re game makes me want to go downtown and get a hunting license.”

  “You can hunt me anytime you want, Sugar Lips.”

  I have always been told that things look better when you look on the bright side. The only bright side I could see to this encounter was that Heloise Humphert’s equally ugly sister, Hortense, had gone back home, or had had her parole revoked. I must inquire to see how much it would cost to have quicksand installed between my property and Miss Humphert’s.

  “Miss Humphert, I must be going. Maybe, if I’m lucky, I’ll see you again in a couple of decades.”

  “Oh, Cyrus, I’ll camp out right here until you get back. Do you have any idea when that will be?”

  I quoted her a date of February 30, and then made a note to check with the hardware store to see what might get rid of the stench in case she camped out on my porch. Possibly lye, or is it lime? Or would it take dynamite?

  +++

  “Ray Nitschke.”

  “Do what?” My partner in crime had just sat down in Lightning and buckled up, and already he was speaking in tongues.

  “Ray Nitschke.”

  “Are you sneezing or suggesting that we try a sushi bar for lunch today?”

  “Nitschke isn’t Japanese. It’s German. And Ray Nitschke is a person.”

  “What person?”

  “The man who lives on the third floor at Parkway Arms.”

  “So he’s our murderer? No, wait a minute. The guy who lives on the third floor of Parkway Arms has a different name. Let me see. Now, I’ve got it. It’s Russell Cochran. So, who’s this Ray Nitschke?”