by Leo Bonanno
“How did a student of mine grow up to sound like such a bumpkin?” I asked Niki. She didn’t offer an explanation.
“Anyway, I’m planning a trip over to Boyhan to check out this Ida Scribbs person. If you feel like tagging alo-END OF MESSAGE.” Forgot about her the little voice said sarcastically.
“Damn it!” I yelled, hung up on my sexy robot receptionist, and dialed a fresh number.
“Myron, it’s me,” I blurted when he answered the phone.
“Hey, Professor, what’s new?”
“Have you gone to see the Scribbs woman yet?”
“Actually, I was just leaving. Why?”
“Swing by my place first. I’m going with you.”
The Boyhan Science Center looked more like a shopping mall than a building of artistic and educational significance. Large colorful statues cluttered a front courtyard, as did fountains that were big enough to rival Arnold’s last philanthropic endeavor. As Myron and I walked through the main entrance, a perky woman in a blue uniform greeted us and held out brochures in front of an authoritative velvet rope. “Welcome to the Boyhan Science Center, gentlemen. My name is Charlotte and I-”
“Listen, ma’am,” Myron said curtly, “we’re not paying customers. I’m here on official police business and I need to speak to the person in charge.” I nodded and looked at Charlotte, who seemed confused.
“The Boyhan Science Center was established seven years ago in an attempt to make the extraordinary world of science available to science lovers young and old. Our facility-”
“Ma’am, please,” Myron interrupted again. “Are you hearing me? This isn’t a pleasure trip. I need to see the person in charge.” I nodded again, and looked at Charlotte again, who looked confused…again.
“Our facility operates solely on the donations received by our visitors and the revenue generated by-”
“Charlotte?” I finally said. She continued to yammer on about revenue this and donation that. “Charlotte, honey?”
“-generated by local sponsors and-”
“Charlotte!” I snapped. Charlotte stopped talking and took a step back, as did Myron and everyone within earshot. Myron might have been wearing a badge and a holster, but all eyes were on the little man next to him. “Cram the sales pitch, sweetheart!” Her eyes opened wide. “I will give you twenty-five big ones right now if you can shut up long enough for us to get by. You think you can handle that, Charlotte?” Her eyes still wide, she nodded, slowly. “Super! Thanks, Charlotte.” I walked towards her and she hastily stepped aside, unhooking the velvet rope that held so many visitors captive for so long. I was only a few feet past her and her mighty velvet rope when I realized that Myron Tuttle was no longer next to me. He was still behind the velvet rope, just staring at me. “Well, come on!” I barked. His body finally jolted to life, and he sidestepped Charlotte with an embarrassed smile to join me.
Then there were footsteps from behind me. I turned to see a very cross looking woman in a blue pantsuit and blouse fold her arms across her chest. “Who the hell do you think you are?” Ida Scribbs howled at me. “What the hell do you think you’re doing; assaulting my staff and disturbing my customers? This isn’t a barn dance, you clod!” Myron finally caught up with me and stood at my side. Ida craned her head upwards, acknowledged the giant next to me, and then said, “Officer, arrest this man.”
“Excuse me, ma’am?” Myron said.
“You heard me, arrest him. Arrest him now!”
“For what?” I asked boldly. “Refusing to let your air-headed minions separate me from my money? Get real, science hag!” All around us, feet started to shuffle. Science Center patrons and staff had encircled us, no doubt assuming this clean cut couple of old folks was about to have a knock-down drag-out brawl.
There was no brawl, no altercation, not even a single swear. Ida Scribbs squinted her eyes, leaned in, and smiled. “Oh, it’s you, Mr. Hunt.” She said flatly. “Terribly sorry, I didn’t recognize you at first. These eyes aren’t what they used to be. I’m sure you can relate.” She spoke as if nothing happened; as if she didn’t just try to get me thrown into the big house.
“What?” Myron and I asked simultaneously.
“It’s alright, ladies and gentlemen, it’s alright,” Ida announced, putting her arms in the air. “It seems our celebrity visitor has a flavor for dramatic entrances.” Folks started to mutter and mumble around us. “Surely you recognize the country’s newest super sleuth, Mr. Reevan Hunt, here to visit our world-renowned forensic sciences exhibit.” All at once, folks rushed in from the edges of the circle. People were shouting my name and screaming for my attention.
“Great!” I said sarcastically and threw my hands in the air.
“Is that her?” Myron asked, nodding to Ida.
“Who else would it be?” I said sulkily.
“Then let’s all go have a chat somewhere more private.” With that, the large man put a hand on my shoulder and a hand on Ida and plowed us forwarded through the throng of autograph seekers. Ida fidgeted and fussed at first, but Myron was pushing too hard for either one of us to control the direction of our own movement.
He shoved us through the crowd and turned around to face it. “Show’s over so back off!” He screamed. The crowd stopped in its tracks and fell silent. Somewhere in the Science Center I heard an exhibit rattle in its display. Myron turned to Ida and bent down silently. “We need to chat,” he said flatly. “Your office. Now.” Ida looked at me, appearing terrified. I shrugged my shoulders. She looked back at Myron, then turned around and led the way.
“How dare you accuse me of behaving uncivilized?” I retorted. “You tried to use me to boost your museum numbers. How dare you treat me like some kind of attraction!”
“You are an attraction, Mr. Hunt,” Ida answered as she circled around her desk and sat in a very high-backed leather chair. “All celebrities are attractions, at least until their fifteen minutes are over. Please, take a seat.” Myron and I looked at each other, and then headed for the two guest chairs in front of Ida’s desk. “This is about Arnold, I suppose.”
“You don’t seem surprised to see us,” I said.
“Why would I be? Standard procedure. I was there the night he was killed, just like you, Mr. Hunt. I’m sure I’m a suspect just like everyone else, well, almost everyone.” She glared at me from her leathery throne. I shifted in my chair awkwardly.
“Ma’am, Mr. Hunt is here at my request to confirm some facts. I’ll thank you to direct any statements to me.” Ida shrugged and fell back into her seat.
“Fine, Sheriff, I’m happy to cooperate. I’m sure you have questions. Please, fire away.” Myron fished out his small pad from his breast pocket and turned it to the next clean page.
“At what time did you leave the Pendleton Museum of Science the night Arnold Medley was killed?”
“About eleven I guess.”
“Did you go straight home? Did you stay there the remainder of the evening?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Anyone at home to verify that, ma’am? You live in Boyhan, I assume?”
“Yes that’s right, though my only alibis are a cat and a goldfish.”
“So there is no one to confirm your whereabouts for that night after eleven p.m.?”
“Look Sheriff,” Ida said, rocking forward in her chair and leaning on her desk. “I can save you a lot of time by pointing out a simple fact or two here.” She said no more.
“Go on,” Myron finally said.
“I had no reason to kill Mr. Medley, Sheriff. No motive at all. Arnold and I were professional rivals, nothing more. In all honesty, I’m sorry our little contest had to end this way. I was so hoping to put his little museum out of commission by the end of next year.”
“What are you talking about?” Myron asked.
“She’s talking about a ten year old feud, Sheriff,” I said. “Ten years ago, Arnold Medley and Ida Scribbs were both gunning for that Curator job. Arnold got it, and Ida ended up h
ere, and their two museums ha-”
“Science Center,” she said.
“-and their two buildings have been in competition ever since.”
“Someone’s been doing their homework,” Ida said coyly.
“Seems a little childish to me, ma’am,” Myron said, making notes in his pad.
“It’s called capitalism, Sheriff, and it ensures the people of this community get the most for their money.” Ida stood up and circled her desk as she spoke, finally sitting on her desk in front of us. “Again, if you’re looking for a motive here, I’m afraid you’re just not going to find one. It’s true that Arnold got the job I wanted a decade ago, but look at me now. I run a very successful public establishment. My center and staff have been honorably mentioned in scientific literature around the country. This facility brings in over two million dollars in revenue every year. You can check if you don’t believe me. A I said, this is a public establishment paid for by the taxpayers and all of my facility’s financials are public record. The truth is, Sheriff, my not getting that job in that rundown little museum was the best thing to happen to me, and I would have loved nothing more than to rub it in Arnold’s face for the rest of his life.”
“Alright,” I finally said. “I’ll bite. If you didn’t kill him, then who did?”
“Well there’s no shortage of suspects, is there, Mr. Hunt? There’s that ass-kisser Dennis Trago, of course. I had only known him ten minutes before I saw he had eyes for the king’s throne. Pulling out his chair, refilling his drinks. Who knows what that man would do if the king he’d been religiously serving chose to show favor on someone else?”
“King?” Myron asked softly, leaning towards me.
“She means Medley. Keep up, man.”
“Thought so, just checking.” Myron returned to his pad and continued to scribble.
“Then there’s that lovely doctor, Emily was it? Yes, Emily Sellars. Something going on there, I think, between her and Arnold.” Myron turned to me again. I turned to him and shrugged. “Oh, didn’t you see it, Mr. Hunt?” Ida said sweetly. “Didn’t you see the sneaked glances from across the table? I know I did. Yes, there was definitely something there, and I’m sure Carol Sykora wasn’t too happy about it.”
“Why would Carol care?” I asked.
“If I saw those glances I’m sure she did too, and she must have been royally pissed.”
“What do you know about Ms. Sykora?” Myron asked, shifting in his seat.
“Not much,” Ida replied. “Just that if there was something between Arnold and Dr. Sellars, then there was definitely something else between Arnold and Carol.”
“How could you possibly know that?” I asked, and instantly regretted it. I knew how Ida Scribbs found out. It was the same way I found out. The touch. Don’t you remember the touch and the look, my little voice harped. Yes, of course I did. I remembered the way Carol looked at him during the party, the way she rubbed his shoulder and smiled. That’s the look, alright. Most definitely.
“I believe you’ve got a genuine love triangle on your hands, Sheriff. That’s an instant motive for both the ladies right there. Honestly, Mr. Hunt, I expected a famous detective such as yourself to be a little more observant of your surroundings. You’ll never be able to solve this noodle-scratcher if you don’t buckle down and focus.” She laughed a contemptuous laugh and rocked back on her desk, hugging herself.
“I’m not a detective, Ida,” I said.
“Well obviously,” she replied sharply.
“I’m the investigator here, ma’am,” Myron said in a stern voice.
“Yes of course you are, but then, if you’re the investigator, why is he here?” She pointed to me and smiled. “Still trying to clutch to those last five minutes, Mr. Hunt? Still trying to be somebody at the end of a life spent as a total nobody? And that brings us to you, then, doesn’t it. Can’t you see, Sheriff? Your partner there is just as much as suspect as any of the rest.”
“How so? What’s my motive? Why would I kill a man I didn’t even know?”
“Because it’s the perfect crime with the perfect results, that’s why. You got a taste of the limelight after that old bastard McCune bit the dust and you liked it. I bet you liked it a lot, and you’re not ready to let that limelight go. What’s the plan, Mr. Hunt? Subsidize your laughable teacher’s pension with a few book deals? A miniseries? A Hollywood blockbuster? No, I’m afraid you’re not immune to accusation either, Mr. Hunt. Not immune at all.”
Wow, she’s good the little voice said, and it immediately pissed me off. “I won’t stand here and be accused of murder!” I shouted, standing up.
“Of course not!” She shouted back, standing up and walking back around her desk. “But you’ve got no problem standing there and accusing me! Get the hell out! Both of you!” She flicked her hand in the direction of the door, plopped down in her chair and spun around to face the window behind her. She disappeared behind her leather shield.
“Thanks for your cooperation, ma’am,” Myron said,. A gentlemen right to the end. “I’ll be in touch.” Myron and I stepped out of her office and into the hall. As we headed toward the entrance, we heard footsteps follow us out.
“One more thing, Sheriff!” Ida hollered down the hall. Her voice bounced off the walls and surrounded us like some creepy amusement park ride. We both stopped and turned to face her.
“Yes?” Myron shouted back.
“There are more suspects, you know.” Myron quickly yanked out his notepad and rummaged through the pages.
“How so? The staff were the only ones there that night, weren’t they?” Ida nodded slowly in the negative.
“I’m afraid not, Sheriff. Arnold Medley may have paid for his own retirement dinner, but he didn’t deliver it.” With that, she disappeared into her office and slammed the door.
“What the hell was that crazy old bat talking about, Professor?”
“I have no idea, Myron. I don’t know wha-” Simon. The delivery guys from the caterers. How could you forget about the caterers? “Holy crap,” I mumbled.
“What? What? Tell me? Who else was there?”
“No one mentioned any delivery boys! Why didn’t anyone mention them?” Myron was blabbering as we speed-walked towards the exit.
“I guess no one remembered them,” I replied. “There were two. One named Simon, who Arnold seemed to know. The other I never really saw, but they both had access to Arnold’s office when they wheeled the dessert cart in there.”
“They put the cart in there? No one told me that? I just figured one of you picked it up on the way to the party?”
“Didn’t Dolores Tilson mention it in her statement yesterday? She was going to bring it home with her and drop it off at the caterer’s place tomorrow on her way to work.”
“She did say she went back for the cart after the party, but I just assumed she was the one that brought it with her when she came!”
We raced past the velvet rope and through the glass doors. “Hey,” a woman’s voice called after us. We stopped and turned to see Charlotte standing in the doorway, her hand outstretched. “My twenty-five big ones, remember?” I was confused at first, then remembered my promise during our arrival.
“Yeah, right,” I called back, reaching into my pocket. I grasped a quarter, pulled it out and flicked it to her. She caught it and that look of confusion swept over her face once again. Myron and I turned and continued towards the car.
“This is twenty-five big ones?” She screamed after us. I turned to her, walking backwards. I cupped my hands around my mouth and screamed my response.
“They’re big ones to me! I’m on a teacher’s pension. Ask your boss…it’s laughable!”
“What was the other one’s name?” Myron asked as we whizzed through the next intersection and under Crook’s Bridge. I turned to him and saw how his intense eyes glowed between the flashing shadows of the trees around us. Eerie.
“I told you, I don’t know. Simon was the only one that sp
oke to us, and he didn’t say much, in fact he…” I trailed off, my mind returning back to the night of the party. He just stood there Little Reevan’s voice said. He just stood there in the doorway while the other one walked off. He wanted to say something, but I don’t think he ever said it.
“What?” Myron asked, bringing me back to the car which was now slowing down as it passed the shops on Pendleton Avenue. “What are you thinking?”
“The kid, Simon, just stood in the doorway watching us before he left. The other one walked off, but Simon just stood there staring at us, like he wanted to say something but it was stuck in his throat.”
“How did Arnold know the kid’s name?” Myron asked, and it was a question I hadn’t ever considered.
“I don’t know, Myron, but he tipped the kid well enough to put some spring in his step. Tipped him more than I would tip a delivery boy.”
“Maybe Arnold did a lot of business with these particular caterers? Maybe he got to know the kid before that night?”
“Could be,” I replied, but something still wasn’t right.
“Well, we’re here,” Myron said, bringing the cruiser to a halt in front of Dunlowe Caterers. “If you’ve got any ideas, let’s hear them now.” We sat in the car for a moment just mulling over the facts we had already collected. What did he want to say? Why didn’t he say it? Just as Little Reevan was about to spew out another sarcastic quip, a stringy young man walked out the front door of Dunlowe Caterers. My eyes opened wide as the young man turned and eyed the cruiser, then hunched up his shoulders and stuck his hands in his pockets.
“Stop him, Myron,” I said very quietly. There was no way the boy could have heard me, but I whispered anyway.
