“You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”
“Not a clue,” I admitted. “He’s a secondhand dog. He had the name when I got him.”
“Well his previous owner must have been of a macabre sort,” Sheriff Dash answered. “Colin McConnell was Betsy Ewing’s fourth husband.”
“Okay…” I said.
“Betsy Ewing, the Black Widow of the South,” he said as though the knowledge was as common as beginning a Kardashian’s name with the letter K. “She married seven men all in all before they caught her. She’d poison them and then collect the insurance money, but that wasn’t the worst part. The drugs she’d give them were intense sedatives.”
“Oh no!” I said as the pieces clicked together in my mind.
“Which means-”
“He was buried alive,” I finished, picturing the dog and now understanding just why he had been so afraid of the dark.
“More than likely,” Sheriff Dash answered. “That’s the urban legend, though it’s a shame there’s no way to know for sure.”
“Right,” I answered uncomfortably.
We pushed into the hospital, where Sheriff Dash flashed his badge and we were directed to the 7th floor.
“The trauma unit,” a pudgy nurse with a helmet of tight blind curls and a bad attitude barked at us through a mouthful of Cheetos.
“Thanks,” Sheriff Dash said drolly as we headed toward the elevator.
As the doors opened, we were met with a pair of uniformed officers who stood outside the room where I had to imagine Ralph was staying.
“That’s close enough dudes,” the younger of the officers said, walking toward with his hand stretched in the shape of a stop sign. “I’m afraid you guys are going to have to take the long way around if you need to get by.” He leaned in. “I’m not supposed to say anything, but there’s a dangerous criminal in the next room.”
“How prudent of you,” Sheriff Dash said. “I know who the criminal is. I called in about him.” I swear his chest puffed up as he once again flashed his badge and said the next part. “I’m the sheriff of Second Springs.”
The young officer looked him up and down. “Seriously? You guys must be super casual down there,” he added, pointing at Darrin’s undercover (and very underdressed) attire. “Are you guys, like, hiring or anything? Cause I’m kinda sick of having to wear a belt.”
I stifled a chuckle.
“Don’t ask him for a job, Charlie. I doubt he’s hiring.” A familiar voice sounded from behind him. I looked to find Dwight standing behind him, a bag of caramel creams opened in his hands.
Charlie looked back at Sheriff Dash with a face like he had just been tricked into drinking bad milk. “Figures.” And then he trotted off back to his position by the room.
“Dwight,” I said, beating back a little internal warmth as I watched him munch of the caramel creams. He had loved those stupid things since we were both knee-high to a grasshopper.
Some things never change.
“Hey there, Rita.” He smiled, but it was a formal smile, and I had to remind myself that he didn’t know me- at least, not this me.
“Former deputy,” Sheriff Dash said, folding his arms over his chest. “I’m surprised to see you here.” He tipped his cap. “Seeing as how you had absolutely no reason to come.”
Dwight gulped, fumbling with the caramel creams bag as he tried to set it down.
“Um, -ye-yes sir,” he stammered. “You see, see; the thing is sir- what you need to understand. See, I was- and then-”
“Spit it out Dwight!” Sheriff Dash barked.
“I want my job back!” He answered in a near panic. “I mean, mean; I’d like my job back. That is, if you think you might reconsider firing me.” He steadied his stance and took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. “I know I messed things up, but I just figured if I came here and showed you how good of police officer I could be, that you might-you know…”
“Let me get this straight,” Sheriff Dash started. “In order to prove to me that you’re a good officer who I should bring back onto my force, you decided to jump onto the front lines of an ongoing investigation?”
Dwight gulped again. “That’s about the long and short of it, sir. Yes.”
Sheriff Dash stared at him for a long time. “Well, I do like the initiative.”
Wow, I wasn’t expecting that.
“So what do you have?”
“Excuse me?” Dwight asked with wide eyes.
“You say you’re a good officer and you beat us here by at least twenty minutes. Tell me what you have so far. Have you talked to the suspect yet?”
“Well, no,” Dwight answered, looking nervously to the floor. “They’re preparing him for surgery, and they said only family members were allowed to see him. But, um,” he started stammering again.
“What is it, Dwight?” Sheriff Dash asked.
“Does this guy have a connection with Patrick at all?”
“Why would you ask that?” I asked, moving forward with narrowed eyes.
“Well,” he gulped again. “It’s probably nothing, but Patrick’s last name was O’Brian and when the doctors brought this guy in here, they said his name was Ralph Johns.”
“I’m not following you,” I admitted, glaring at Dwight.
“Well, like I said, it might not mean anything, but they’re not real names.”
“What?” Sheriff Dash balked.
“I mean-yes, they are real names, but I doubt that they’re their real names.” Dwight shuffled his feet. “They’re both aliases of Plastic Man. You know, the comic book character.”
“They changed their names,” I said, looking over at Sheriff Dash. “Why would they change their names?”
He looked over at the room. “We’ll just have to hope he pulls through surgery so that we can question him.”
“No,” I shook my head. “I’ve got this.”
I stepped out into the middle of the floor and started sobbing. Okay, so it wasn’t real sobbing, but you don’t get to play Molly the Milk Maid in the 3rd grade rendition of Cow Daze without having some serious acting chops.
“I want to see my husband!” I wailed.
The look on Sheriff Dash’s face was priceless, a sort of impressed bewilderment.
“What are you talking about?” The young officer moved toward me.
“I want to see my husband!”
The older officer came up now, followed by a few doctors and nurses. I was really into it and the residents of Hamilton medical were taking notice.
“He said I couldn’t see my husband!” I cried, pointing to the young guy. “He said I couldn’t!”
“I didn’t- I…I don’t even know who your husband is,” he stuttered.
“He said it!” I sobbed. “He said I couldn’t see Ralph,” I cleared my throat. “You know, Ralph Johns; in that room right behind you.” I threw my hand to my forehead, really selling it. Mrs. Dimarco would be so proud. “I told him I had rights!”
The older officer was dumbstruck. “I…Of course you do,” he said, looking over at one of the doctors.
“It’ll have to be quick, but okay,” the doctor conceded.
“He also said he didn’t want to wear a belt!” I added.
“Not cool,” the young officer said.
“Ma’am,” the older officer said. “You can see your husband. Just please stop crying.”
The waterworks stopped immediately as I dropped the act. “M’kay,” I said lightly. “Just let me get my purse.”
I trotted over to Sheriff Dash, grabbing my purse from the place on the floor where I left it.
“You’re welcome,” I winked at him.
He tried to hide it, but I could tell he was grinning.
Moving past the doctors, nurses, and officers, I strode into Ralph’s room, closing the door behind me.
He lay on the hospital bed, hooked up to machines. His eyes barely opened as he looked over at me. He was in a bad shape but, even tho
ugh it made me more than a little uncomfortable, I was going to have to get to the bottom of this.
“Hey Ralph,” I said, sitting down on the chair beside him. “I hate to say this, but I think it’s time you start answering some questions.”
Chapter 16
I gave the man on the bed a once over. He was in bad shape, cut, bruised, and swollen in almost every area. This crash didn’t do him any favors and I’d bet my seemingly endless string of floral print dresses that it wasn’t an accident. Someone was after him, the same person responsible for killing Patrick. I needed to find out who, just as I needed to find out what connection all of this shared with the murder of Mrs. Hoover two years ago.
Also, there was my own murder to think about.
But I would have to question him to get that done, and at a time when the last thing this guy needed to think about was answering questions.
“Ralph, like I said, I need to ask you some questions. I’d really appreciate if you’d answer them.” I knew without a shadow of a doubt this guy’s name wasn’t really Ralph Johns. That-along with the name Patrick O’Brian- were identities of the comic book character Plastic Man. Dwight told me that and a quick Google session on my cell phone as I sat here confirmed it. But I didn’t know what else to call him. Maybe I should start with that.
“Will you tell me your name, Ralph? Your real name?”
He blinked hard, staying still and silent.
Why do guys always have to be so stubborn?
“Ralph, look at yourself,” I said, shaking my head. “Look at what you’ve come to. You’re lying in a hospital bed about to go into surgery. You’re in a strange town, with no one who cares about you anywhere in shouting distance, and you’re the prime suspect in the murder of someone who my gut tells me you’d have never wanted to see harmed.”
Ralph blinked back tears. I was onto something, but he still wasn’t talking.
I decided to go about this a different way.
“Was it the brakes?” I asked, leaning forward. He looked over at me. “Did someone cut the brake lines? That’s how I’d have done it, if I wanted to kill you, that is.” I put my hand on his. He tried to move it, but he was so weak. “Not that I would ever want to kill you, Ralph. I’m with the police. Well, I’m loosely with the police, but more than that, I want to see justice for Patrick. And I certainly wouldn’t want to see you go down for it.” I leaned in even further. “We both know you’d have never killed your brother.”
Ralph’s eyes went wide and he tried to pull away from me, weakly mouthing the word ‘how’.
“You both came from Philadelphia, you named yourselves after a pretty obscure comic book guy, and the texts you sent to his secret phone have a real sense of worry about them,” I said. “I was juggling between brothers and childhood friends, but your bushy eyebrows answered that question as soon as I got a good look at you. You and Patrick didn’t share much physically, but you both have those.” I pursed my lips. “I’m really sorry for your loss. He seemed like a good guy.”
He couldn’t blink back the tears anymore.
“I told him,” Ralph whispered. His voice was so low and hoarse that it was almost silent. “I told him we shouldn’t have come here. It wasn’t worth it.” He closed his eyes. “Even if we could have found the stupid thing, what good would it have done?”
My mind flashed back to the night I died, to the holes dug up in Mrs. Hoover’s house. It was them, Patrick and Ralph. They had been looking for something, something they hadn’t been able to find. But what was it? And was this the man who had pushed me down those steps? His voice was so hoarse that I couldn’t have pinned it down as the gravely tone that growled at me before my final tumble.
“What was it, Ralph? What was he looking for? And what about the wrench?”
“That wasn’t him!” He exclaimed as loudly as his current condition would allow. The monitors linked to him beeped louder, indicating his heart was speeding up. “She was already dead when we got there. And that wrench, she didn’t deserve to have to go through that again.”
Again?
I wanted to ask, but I decided to let him speak instead.
“He wouldn’t have killed her though, not ever, not even for the money. Jake loved that woman. He always had.”
“Ralph, what-”
A shriek sounded throughout the hall and then I heard a loud rapping against the door.
My heart skipped a beat as did Ralph’s judging by the sounds emitted from the monitor.
“One sec,” I said, standing and making my way to the door.
I opened it to find Mayor McConnell standing at my feet, tail wagging and barking loudly.
“What on earth?!” I asked. “We’re seven floors up!”
He shot me a look and darted off toward the stairwell.
“Is that your dog?” A nurse asked me, perked atop her desk with a rolled up folder in her hand.
Sheriff Dash and Dwight jogged toward me.
“I have to follow him,” I said breathlessly. “I think he wants to show me something.”
“I’m coming with you,” Sheriff Dash said. Turning back to Dwight, he pointed to Ralph. “Watch him!”
We both took off toward the stairwell. Mayor McConnell was waiting patiently, but he bolted as soon as he saw us.
I was gasping for breath as we rounded all seven flights of stairs, but I did manage to throw a tidbit of Intel the sheriff’s way.
“I think Ralph’s car was tampered with, but it only could have happened-”
“Between the auto shop and here. Way ahead of you. I’ve already got my men checking every gas station and rest stop along the main road for clues.”
“I mean, I wouldn’t call that way ahead,” I muttered as we rounded the last flight of stairs and followed the mayor as he rushed outside on all fours.
He galloped toward the parking structure and then toward the set of stairs in there.
Thankfully, we only one flight to climb there, before we followed Mayor McConnell down the main aisle.
He stopped at the tailgate of the old red truck Charlie gave me upon my return to Second Springs.
He looked back at me, and then at the truck again. His expression was less obnoxious than usual, which set my internal flashers off. Something had scared him.
“Oh no…” Sheriff Dash muttered as we got near enough to the truck to see what the trouble was.
I gasped as I took it in. My entire windshield was shattered and, lying on my seat, along with a sheet full of broken glass, was a wrench.
Chapter 17
“What are you doing?” I asked as Sheriff Dash pulled his phone from his pocket and started dialing.
“I’m getting a detail to bring you back to Second Springs,” he answered. “This is too dangerous. I don’t want you dealing with this anymore.”
“Oh no you’re not!” I said, snatching the phone out of his hand. “I’m involved in this now. I have a wrench in my windshield that says as much.”
Sheriff Dash shot me a look that would curdle milk. “Which is why I don’t think you continuing is a very good idea.”
“I do,” I answered, half mad and half indignant. “I think it’s a very good idea, the best idea I’ve ever had, in fact.”
“This lunatic is obviously trying to send a message. You’re not safe so long as you’re digging into this,” Sheriff Dash continued.
“Oh please!” I balked. “We’re always in danger. Look at what happened to me two-” I stopped short. “Look at what happened to the other Rita. That poor and devilishly beautiful girl was just doing her job. She was delivering pies and some monster killed her. None of us are ever safe, not really. That doesn’t mean we stop trying to take down the bad guys.”
“You deliver pies!” He said, shaking his head. “You’re not a police officer. You’re not a detective. You’re not even a crossing guard. You have no business here. The fact that I’ve let it go this far is a testament to what I can only describe as temporary insa
nity.” He cemented his stance, a ‘no nonsense’ look on his face. “Now I’m sorry. I understand that you, for whatever reason, you’re personally invested in this case. But I can’t let you get hurt, even if you’re hell bent on running toward it headfirst.”
He walked away from the truck, taking me by the arm and nudging me along with him.
Mayor McConnell growled as the sheriff touched my arm.
“It’s okay,” I said, looking down at the dog and feeling a hint of pride at Mayor McConnell’s newfound protective nature. “I’m fine.”
“I’m going to get you safely into the waiting room, have Dwight and those other idiots watch over you until a unit arrives, and then I’ll come out here and tape off the area around your truck. Though honestly, I doubt I’ll find much evidence. Whoever this lunatic is has been particularly careful thus far.”
“They sure have,” I answered, the wheels spinning in my head. “Almost too careful.”
We moved back into the hospital without incident, once again leaving Mayor McConnell outside. But when the doors of the elevator opened on the seventh floor, we realized things were not as simple as we had hoped or expected.
People rushed back and forth. Nurses, carrying bags of clear liquids and doctors with worried looks on their faces all beelined bee lined for the room where Ralph was being held.
“What happened?” I asked, looking up at Sheriff Dash, though I knew he didn’t have any more information than I did.
“Nothing good,” he answered, and moved out onto the floor.
Dwight rushed toward us, a cup of coffee in each hand and his hair whipped around his head.
He’s been running his hands through his hair. This isn’t good.
“Talk to me, Deputy,” Sheriff Dash ordered as Dwight approached.
Dwight swallowed hard and stammered. “He…Ralph, I mean. He had something called a major cardiac arrest.” He looked back at the room.
“I thought he was stable. They were prepping him for surgery,” Sheriff Dash countered.
Twice Baked Page 10
