A Rip Roaring Good Time

by Jeanne Glidewell

  My mind was racing, preventing me from nodding off. At around three-thirty in the morning, Dolly had jumped off the bed to settle on a pile of clothes on the floor after being disturbed several times by my tossing and turning.

  When I kick the bucket myself, Lord, please have mercy on my soul, I prayed. Let me come back as a housecat. How nice it'd be to only have to be concerned with a few things: a bowl full of food, a comfortable place─ up high preferably─ to nap, a clean litter box to poop in, and most importantly, well-trained servants to wait on me hand and paw. Even the mice could scurry all over the house, unless of course, I had a hankering to chase them down to wear off a sudden burst of energy. Ahh... what a nice life that'd be, I thought before finally drifting off into a fitful slumber.

  My sleep was rendered even more restless with a dream about eyeballs being dug out of a corpse with an ice-cream scoop, sliced in two with a knife and placed on the top of a birthday cake with a candle sticking out of each half. "Surprise!" The unidentifiable people around me shouted, as melted wax the color of fresh blood began to run down the candles and onto the whites of the eyeballs. Startled awake, I sat up in bed feeling as if a ghost had walked over my grave.

  * * *

  The situation had not righted itself as I'd hoped by the time Rip and I joined Stone in the kitchen for a cup of coffee early the following morning. Our host looked dejected as he remarked, "It just doesn't seem right to be sitting here in the morning drinking coffee without Lexie."

  "I'm sure it doesn't, my friend. We'll do our best to get her back where she belongs as quickly as possible. Any news yet?" Rip asked. I'd noticed he had descended the staircase very tenderly, rubbing his hip after each tentative step. Maybe now I could convince the hard-headed mule to make an appointment with an orthopedic surgeon. We were insurance poor, having paid premiums for health care we seldom needed for five decades. It was about time we recouped some of that investment.

  "No, I haven't heard anything yet. Not a word," an impatient Stone answered Rip's question as he absentmindedly stirred his coffee nonstop for several minutes.

  We sat quietly conversing about the situation for another half-hour. Just as I finished pouring all three of us a refill on our coffee, Detective Wyatt Johnston came through the door. He looked troubled. His uniform was mussed, the top buttons of his shirt fastened incorrectly, and his hair looked like he hadn't combed it in a week. He removed his hat before taking the fourth seat at the table.

  "Bad news, I'm afraid," he began. "I heard Detective Russell tell my old partner, Clint Travis, that Lexie was expected to be formerly charged with first-degree murder later on this afternoon. Depending on several factors of course. The district prosecuting attorney will be reviewing the case beforehand to determine if charges are justified at this point."

  "How can they charge Lexie with murder?" Stone asked. "Don't they have to have some kind of compelling evidence to present to the judge?"

  "Yes, and therein lies the problem. A female party guest named Alice Runcan took several photos, utilizing her camera's flash while the lights were out and everyone was waiting in the pitch dark. And then several minutes later as the lights flashed on and we all yelled 'surprise,' she snapped one more. One of those first photos captured Lexie standing next to Trotter, handing him a goblet full of Crown and Coke. No one else was within ten feet of the two. In fact, Stone and I were the closest and we couldn't even make out Lexie bringing Trotter a drink."

  "Oh, my," Stone said softly before Wyatt continued. "The last photo, taken a couple of minutes later, according to the date and time stamp, shows Trotter spread out on the floor with blood pooling around him. Lexie is still the only one near the victim, and she's holding the murder weapon in front of her with a joyful expression on her face."

  "She'd been in good spirits all evening, prior to the murder, because she was excited about surprising her daughter on her birthday. What mother wouldn't have looked joyful at that moment?" I asked. "It's not like she was hosting a wake. It was a party, for goodness sakes!"

  Wyatt nodded with a rueful smile and replied, "Try explaining that to the chief. In fact, I saw the photos myself, and I have to admit they're very damning. I was concerned from the beginning because we all saw Lexie standing there with the knife when the lights came on. And then, of course, she fainted, as I'm sure you all recall vividly. We all know Lexie would never commit murder, but after further investigation, the judge determined that Lexie was indeed the most likely suspect to have perpetrated the slaying of the chief's beloved stepson. She wasn't convinced murder charges were in order, but she agreed to give the detectives more time to investigate before Lexie could be released from jail."

  "What are you saying, Wyatt?" Rip asked. "Was even more damning evidence found during this so-called 'further investigation'?"

  "Unfortunately, yes. The drink Lexie handed to Trotter Hayes contained cyanide, and a large dose of it, at that. I'm sure Wendy related all that to you. But, also, two different sets of fingerprints were on the goblet, Lexie's and the victim's. The knife had a substantial amount of Hayes's blood on it, and also a trace of hers. The only fingerprints found on it matched the ones they took from Lexie yesterday when they booked her and the two Piney women, whose fingerprints on the knife were not unexpected, naturally, since they were catering the party."

  "Oh, my," Stone said again, louder this time. "I don't understand, Wyatt. How could that happen? We both know Lexie didn't put that cyanide in Trotter's drink. I can't see any logical way she'd even have had access to the poison, much less have had the ill will to use it to kill the guy."

  "Well, my friend, the Rockdale detectives, chief of police, judge, and district prosecuting attorney don't know that. To them the most obvious way Trotter was killed would be for Lexie to have obtained the cyanide some clever way, put a large dose of it in the Crown and Coke she prepared for him, gave it to him to drink, and then slashed her victim's throat in the event the poison didn't kill him. And/or be possibly treated at the hospital quickly enough to be saved so he could identify his would-be killer. Slicing his jugular vein would eliminate that possibility," Wyatt explained, echoing almost exactly what Wendy had told us earlier.

  "The other possibility is that Lexie was framed, perhaps even unintentionally, by the real killer, and this is the angle I plan to base my investigative efforts on. The three of us in this room, along with Wendy and Andy, are probably the only ones involved in this situation who know without a doubt that Lexie is not a killer. But, as you can clearly see, the overwhelming evidence against her was more than enough to cause Judge Jueti to come to the decision she did."

  "Did you say Judge Judy?" I asked Wyatt. Judge Judy was one of my favorite shows to watch in the afternoon when nothing else was on our schedule.

  "No, Rapella," Wyatt answered with a little chuckle. "It sounds like Judy, but it's actually spelled J-U-E-T-I. Judge Jaqueline Jueti will be the presiding judge when and if this case goes to trial. It could be worse. Jueti is a fair judge and not easily persuaded by either the prosecution or the defense teams. She has no close personal ties to any of the local attorneys, which is often a contributing factor in a judge's decisions, I'm sure."

  "So, what do we do now?" A weary Stone asked his friend with a touch of sadness in his voice.

  "I don't know, Stone. I wish I could tell you everything is going to work out fine, but I can't promise you that. We'll just have to play it by ear. You can visit with Lexie at the detention center this afternoon. I should be the only employee in the station from one to one-thirty. You'll need to make it during that time frame so I can let you talk with her in private. Two other detectives on the investigating team report at one forty-five, and I don't want you there when they show up. So, to be safe, I'll have to get you all out of there in a half-hour—tops!"

  "No problem, pal! I'd be happy just to get to see her and let her know we're going to do whatever we can to get her out of there," Stone said.

  Wyatt nodded and replied,
"Perhaps Lexie can give you a better idea of what really happened by explaining exactly what she did or didn't do, see, or hear. Naturally, she went over and over it with the detectives. But she was under a lot of stress at the time. Maybe talking with family and friends in a more relaxed environment will jog her memory. She might even suddenly recall something that is crucial in proving her innocence. And I'll keep you posted on what's going down as far as the investigating team and any potential charges being filed."

  "Good grief," Stone replied. "After all my wife's been through looking into murder cases on her own, I never thought she'd wind up on the other side of a homicide investigation. And so soon after she assured me she was through putting her neck on the line to track down killers. I thought we were on Easy Street from here on out."

  "Don't let this overly distress you, Stone. I know you have to battle high blood pressure as it is, and we don't need you stroking out on us right now." Wyatt patted his close friend on the back as he teased him. "Seriously, pal, try not to let this worry you too much. I'll do all I can to help get Lexie released and get the investigation headed down the right path, pursuing other potential, more probable, suspects."

  "Thanks, buddy!" Stone replied as Wyatt exited the room. Rip and I looked at each other with matching expressions as Stone laid his head down on the table between his hands. In unspoken agreement, Rip and I decided to look into the circumstances surrounding this puzzling situation.

  * * *

  Wendy called from her and Andy's ranch near Atchison, Kansas. She told us she needed to feed the livestock and their dogs, but assured us she'd be at the inn in time to ride with us to visit Lexie while only Detective Johnston was on duty at the Rockdale Police Station.

  Rip and Stone spent the time pacing nervously around the inn. To earn our keep, I cleaned all the rooms that had been occupied, scouring the tubs and toilets, putting fresh linens on the beds, replacing soiled towels with fresh ones, and straightening the suites for future guests. I'd heard Lexie remark that, as part of the vast amenities at the Alexandria Inn, they provided both breakfast and supper for their guests. It would be up to me to make certain the guests' expectations were met.

  There had been eleven people at the dining room table for breakfast that morning, including Stone, Rip, and me. I'd chosen to prepare a simple meal of bacon, eggs, and pancakes, which seemed to satisfy everyone's appetite. I felt a sense of relief that they were all departing after breakfast. I'd also laid out a large package of frozen pork chops to fry for supper for Stone, Rip, and me. I was relatively certain Lexie would not be home to prepare supper herself, and fortunately, I had the leftover sandwiches from the party to serve for lunch before we headed to the police station.

  Handling the kitchen chores was the least I could do to thank our hosts for their hospitality. I was happy to see that Georgia had thought to leave a beautiful cobalt blue platter stacked with individually wrapped turkey and ham sandwiches in the refrigerator, which would suffice for a mid-day meal before heading to the station to visit Lexie.

  While I was frying bacon that morning, I'd noticed an open bottle of Crown Royal on the counter. I was surprised the detectives had not bagged and tagged it as potential evidentiary material, even though when the crime scene was being processed, the fact that poison had been used was still unknown. Thinking back, I recalled that the whiskey bottle had been obscured behind several large boxes of supplies brought in by the Pineys.

  It occurred to me there was a chance, slim but not impossible, that the bottle could hold some form of evidence that might exonerate Lexie. Could one of the guests have poured the cyanide in it, unbeknownst to Lexie? This could have taken place earlier in the day, potentially even before the onset of the party. It appeared to be nearly full, as if only Trotter's drink had contained any of the bottle's contents.

  A pair of latex gloves still lay on the counter, left behind by the caterers. They looked unused, so I put them on and placed the lid back on the bottle before placing it in a Ziploc bag. As the shape of the bottle was short and stout, it fit nicely in a gallon-sized bag. While we were at the police station, I'd give it to Wyatt to be scrutinized by the crime lab. Perhaps the actual killer's fingerprints had been left behind on the bottle. Wouldn't that be a stroke of luck? I thought. And, a stroke of genius on my part, if I must say so myself.

  I'd find out soon enough it wasn't actually a stroke of luck after all. For one thing, the bottle of whiskey had been one of Rip's that he'd donated to the cause. More importantly, there was no presence of cyanide in its contents and the only sets of prints on the bottle were Rip's, Lexie's, and possibly those of the liquor store clerk who had sold the bottle to my husband. The third set was smudged, most likely not left on the bottle recently, and didn't match anyone who'd attended the party.

  I'm not retracting the "stroke of genius" part of my earlier statement, however. When I'd explained that I had found the latex gloves on the counter, the detectives confiscated them as evidence. They were unsure why none of the investigators had thought to do so at the time they were processing the scene. And to my credit, had the bottle contained fingerprints of any of the other party guests, and the detectives had also overlooked that bottle of whisky used to make the poisonous drink as potential evidence, then imagine how smart I would have looked in everyone's eyes. I'm sure they'd all have been just as impressed with my cleverness as I was.

  Chapter 7

  It was a couple of minutes after one in the afternoon when we all stepped into the Rockdale Police Station and were greeted by Detective Wyatt Johnston. He led us back to a locked holding tank, as Wyatt referred to it, where a forlorn-looking Lexie was sitting on a bench with her head in her hands. She looked up in surprise when she heard us enter the room.

  She was alone in the cell, which might have been a fortuitous thing. No telling what kind of vermin might have been in the same enclosure with her. I shivered to think she could be placed in a position where she felt like she was in a cage with a lion that looked as if it were about to pounce. I'm pretty sure all five of us breathed a sigh of relief at the same moment when we'd discovered she was the lone inmate. Inmate? I thought. The next shiver I felt put the first one to shame.

  The very thought of Lexie being left to her own devices against thieves, thugs, drug addicts, and other scum of the earth creatures, made my blood run cold. And the shiny, stainless steel commode in the corner of the room made me shake my head in horror. If I were sharing a cell with the kind of individuals I was visualizing, I'd refuse to use it even if it caused me to swell up like a water balloon until I finally burst and sprayed them all with urine like water spewing up from a slit in a garden hose. I was curious if there was a separate holding tank for each gender but didn't ask. We had more important things to cover in the half-hour we were allotted to chat with Lexie.

  "Hello, baby," Stone said in greeting. "Are you doing okay?"

  "Well, I guess I'm holding up as well as can be expected," she said somberly. Wyatt unlocked the cage and we all went in. The thought crossed my mind that it was as close as I ever wanted to get to being in jail. After I'd grown up, I understood exactly what my pappy had meant by not wanting to find myself in the "big house".

  Lexie stood up and walked across the room slowly, as if she were stiff from whatever position she'd slept in the previous night. I wondered how she could have slept at all. She hugged her daughter and then fell into Stone's arms for a long and moving embrace. She finally backed away, and with tears welling up in her eyes, she said, "I didn't kill Trotter Hayes. I hope you all believe me. I might not have liked the fellow, but I would never take someone's life or even consider physically harming another human being."

  We all replied with words of support, letting her know we'd never even contemplated the notion she might be guilty of murder. Lexie was the kind of person you didn't have to have been acquainted with for very long before you recognized the goodness in her heart and the purity of her soul. She and Stone were what Rip and I like to
refer to as "good people".

  "Have you heard anything about what's going on? Except for the few tidbits Wyatt's been able to pass on to me, I'm being kept entirely out of the loop. Surely the detectives are looking for the real killer, or killers, aren't they?"

  "I don't think so, honey. I'm fairly sure they're convinced they've already apprehended the killer. And, in their eyes, that would be you, as you already know. Rip and Rapella have offered to do whatever they can to help us find out who the real perpetrator is, since the detectives are making no real effort to look for other suspects."

  "Oh?" She said, glancing our way. She was probably wondering what two old geezers could possibly do to help her out of her precarious situation. One of us could barely move under his own power without a cane, and the other one, I must admit, was a little bit flustered by the entire incident. But I've always believed that if the will was there, the rest would fall into place in due time. And Rip and I definitely had the will to do whatever it took to identify the real killer.

  Stone looked our way too, and I could tell by his expression he was suddenly having second thoughts about letting us butt into the case. I was surprised when he turned toward Lexie and said, "You know I don't usually like to have you or anyone else who's not officially assigned to the case interfere with a murder investigation. But, since Rip was in law enforcement his entire career, I feel very comfortable with the Ripples nosing around and looking for clues that might lead to the apprehension of the actual killer of Trotter Hayes. Under the current circumstances, I feel like we have nothing to lose and everything to gain."

  "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Stone," Rip said. "I do have a few tricks up my sleeve from the thirty-odd years of detective work and the boatload of criminal investigations I've been involved with. And then there's Rapella. How do I put this in a delicate and non-offensive way? Well, let's just say that Rapella is Rapella, and leave it at that."