Evidently Mrs. Unger had no idea what had been hidden right under her feet all those years.
Thankfully, Kevin took over at that point.
“Mr. Unger, what did the police tell you about your father’s disappearance?”
“All I ever heard was that his right arm had been found at the Lake of the Woods by a fisherman. They drug the lake but found nothing.”
While this conversation was taking place, the cat had emerged from under Bertha’s chair and headed in my direction. Without a moment’s hesitation, he leaped into my lap.
“Damn cat!” Galen bellowed. “Get down from there!”
I saw the terror in the cat’s one good eye and felt his body tense. When Galen rose from his chair, I felt the cat unsheathe his claws and leap to the floor. That leap caused the exposed claws to penetrate my trousers and inflict unspeakable damage to Mr. Winkie and the boys. Involuntarily, I grabbed my crotch and cried out in pain.
The cat, having done his damage, made a bee line for the kitchen door.
Bertha was on her feet in an instant. “I’m so sorry! How can I help? Can I get you some ice?”
When I finally got my breath back, I stammered, “Uhhh, no. No ice. I think we should be going.”
“Good idea, Bob.” Kevin said. He turned to the Ungers. “Thank you for your time. I’d better get Mr. Woodward home.”
When we were back in the car, Kevin couldn’t hold back his laughter. “That was priceless! I just wish I had it on video.”
“Glad I could make your day,” I replied, biting my lip. This was the first trauma my cohones had ever experienced. “And by the way, you’re going to have to come inside and explain to my wife why I’m coming home with a bloody scrotum.”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he replied, grinning. “Your current condition reminds me of a book I read.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yeah, The Tiger’s Revenge by Claude Balls.”
“Very funny. Where did you hear that?”
“From your friend, Jerry.”
“Of course.”
Jerry Singer, one of my tenants, has a weekly gig on amateur night at the local comedy club.
“He had a couple more,” Kevin added. “Under the Bleachers by Seymour Butts, and Forty Yards to the Outhouse by Willie Makeit.”
“Are you through?”
“I guess. Shall we head home? I can’t wait to see the look on your wife’s face.”
“Not quite yet,” I replied. “We’re just a few blocks from the Lake of the Woods. I’d like to go by and see where Lenore left her daddy’s arm. You drive. It hurts to move.”
Ten minutes later, Kevin pulled up by the lake.
An old guy was casting a plug into the water.
“Gotta hand it to the girl.” Kevin said. “Pretty smart for an eighteen-year-old. She had it all figured out.”
We sat there for several minutes imagining a young girl placing a severed arm at the water’s edge.
On the way home, it hit me like a ton of bricks. “Holy crap!”
“What!” Kevin asked, obviously startled.
“I think I know why we were supposed to go to Unger’s house.”
“And why is that?”
“To save Mrs. Unger’s life.”
At that moment, Kevin pulled up in front of our building.
“Come on upstairs,” I said. “I’ll show you.”
I opened my book of Edgar Allen Poe’s works.
“The Black Cat,” I said. “The first part of the story is about a guy who has a cat. The guy is a drunk and has other problems as well. Read this passage.”
One night I came home quite late from the inn, where I now spent more and more time drinking. Walking with uncertain step, I made my way with effort into the house. As I entered, I saw — or thought I saw — that Pluto, the cat, was trying to stay out of my way, to avoid me. This action, by an animal which I had thought still loved me, made me angry beyond reason. My soul seemed to fly from my body. I took a small knife out of my coat and opened it. Then I took the poor animal by the neck and with one quick movement, I cut out one of its fear-filled eyes!
“Remind you of anything?” I asked.
“Jesus!” Kevin replied. “Do you think ---?”
“You saw how Galen treated the cat. There was no love lost there, and the cat was obviously scared to death. The story goes on to say that the storyteller hated the cat so much that one day he took it to the basement and hung it by the neck until it was dead.”
“Gruesome,” Kevin muttered.
“Ahh, but the cat got revenge,” I continued. “Later that night, the house caught on fire and burned to the ground. The storyteller believed it was the work of the dead cat.”
“But how could a dead cat start a fire?”
“Poe leaves that to your imagination. What’s important is that the guy who hung the cat believed it. Anyway, the story goes on to say the guy was at a bar and found a stray cat. He took it home only to discover the new cat had only one eye.”
Kevin rolled his eyes. “What are the chances?”
“Stay with me here. The guy began to hate the new one-eyed cat as much as the old one. Now read, starting here.”
One day my wife called to me from the cellar of the old building where we were now forced to live. As I went down the stairs, the cat, following me as always, ran under my feet and nearly threw me down.
In sudden anger, I took a knife and struck wildly at the cat. Quickly my wife put out her hand and stopped my arm. This only increased my anger and, without thinking, I turned and put the knife’s point deep into her heart! She fell to the floor and died without a sound.
I spent a few moments looking for the cat, but it was gone. And I had other things to do, for I knew I must do something with the body, and quickly. Suddenly, I noted a place in the wall of the cellar where stones had been added to the wall to cover an old fireplace which was no longer wanted.
The walls were not very strongly built, and I found I could easily take down those stones. Behind them there was, as I knew there must be, a hole just big enough to hold the body. With much effort I put the body in and carefully put the stones back in their place. I was pleased to see that it was quite impossible for anyone to know that a single stone had been moved.
Kevin thought for a moment. “So you’re thinking that old Galen is going to get pissed at the cat, try to kill it, then stab poor Bertha when she tries to stop him?”
“I know that sounds crazy, but when you consider all the weird stuff that has happened since that raven crapped on Mary’s ice cream, it’s the only thing that makes sense.”
“So what do you propose we do, Mr. Woodward?”
“Somehow, we have to get back in that house before it’s too late!”
CHAPTER 4
Maggie just stood there dumbfounded. “You did what?”
As I was explaining my unfortunate encounter with the cat, Kevin was trying unsuccessfully to keep a straight face.
When I finished, her only response before walking away was, “Unbelievable!”
“That went well,” Kevin said, still snickering.
“Okay,” I replied, “you’ve confirmed my alibi, so you’re excused. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
As he left, he pointed to my crotch. “Better take care of that. You don’t want it to get infected. No telling where that cat had been.”
I stripped off my clothes and climbed into the shower. The discomfort I felt when the hot water and soap hit the affected parts should have been a warning not to do what I did shortly after.
Remembering Kevin’s warning, and not wanting my junk to get infected, I grabbed an old bottle of merthiolate that had been sitting in the medicine cabinet for years, and liberally dabbed the red liquid on my wounds.
Bad idea!
“OW! OW! OW! OW!”
Hearing my pitiful cries, Maggie came running.
“What in the world ---?” Then she spotted the source of my outcr
ies and started giggling. “Looks like it’s wearing lipstick!”
I was hoping for some sympathy, but there was none to be had.
Later that night after we crawled into bed, Maggie snuggled up to my back side. The moment I felt her soft warm body, things began to happen.
“OW! OW! OW! OW!”
Maggie pushed away. “Walt! What’s the matter?”
Evidently arousal wasn’t in the cards for a wounded weenie.
The next morning after breakfast, I called Kevin.
Instead of hearing ‘hello’, I heard the raspy voice of Ted Nugent singing Cat Scratch Fever.
“Very clever. How long did it take you to find that one?”
“A while,” he replied, “but it was definitely worth it.”
“Are you coming over?”
“Of course. Is Maggie home?”
“Why do you ask?”
“You’ll see.”
When Kevin arrived, he grabbed Maggie by the arm. “Come on, Sis. I’d love for you to witness the presentation.”
When the three of us were in my office, Kevin produced a plastic bag and pulled out a short length of string. On one end was a Vienna Sausage, and on the other end, a safety pin.
“What the Sam hell is that?” I asked.
“It’s like a Purple Heart, only more specific,” he replied, pinning the monstrosity on my chest.
Maggie burst out laughing as Kevin gave me a smart salute.
“You’re not going to let this go, are you?”
“Would you? One day you’ll look back on all this and have a good laugh.”
“Maybe,” I replied, “but not today.”
“Wounds still too fresh, I suppose.” He turned to Maggie. “I’m guessing there was no hanky-panky in the Williams’ house last night.”
Maggie was about to reply, but I cut her off. “Enough! Can we get down to business?”
“Okay, Okay, I’m done. What do you have in mind?”
“Like I said yesterday,” I replied, tossing the revolting sausage in the trash, “I think we need to get back to the Unger’s. I still think Bertha is in danger.”
“We can’t just go barging in and accuse the guy.”
“I agree. I say we stake out the place, wait until old Galen leaves, then go have a word with his wife. I’m convinced she has no idea that her husband helped dismember his father and bury him under the parlor floor.”
“I don’t know. There’s that can of worms again. If you go in there making an accusation like that, it probably means getting the cops involved. What if all this is just your imagination working overtime and Bertha isn’t in danger at all?”
I thought for a moment. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. After Galen leaves, we’ll just go in and say we have some follow-up questions, then play it from there depending on what she says.”
“I’m good with that.”
An hour later, we were sitting on Swope Parkway about a block from the Unger house. Armed with a thermos of coffee and snacks, we were prepared to watch until we saw Galen leave the house.
The sun was just setting and our thermos was empty when we saw Galen get in his car. We both ducked as he drove past.
“Here we go,” I said as we watched him turn the corner.
We casually strolled up to the house and knocked. No answer. We knocked again. When there was still no response, Kevin asked, “What do you think?”
“I think we need to get in there and take a look. Do you have your lock picks?”
“Does a fat dog fart?” he replied, pulling out his trusty picks.
A moment later, we were inside.
“Bertha!” I called out. “Mrs. Unger! It’s Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein! We have a few more questions.”
No response.
“I’ve got a bad feeling,” I said. “Let’s go check out the basement.”
“Why the basement?” Kevin asked.
“Don’t you remember from Poe’s story? The guy stabbed his wife and hid her body in the basement wall.”
“Oh, get real. That was just a story.”
“Maybe, maybe not. We won’t know for sure unless we see for ourselves.”
We found the stairway to the basement just off the kitchen. I switched on the light and we tiptoed down.
“There!” I said pointing to the far wall. “Does that mortar look fresh or am I seeing things?”
“Yeah, it does,” he replied, “and that stain on the floor looks like fresh blood.”
“Okay, Sherlock. What do you think of my story now?”
“Looks like you nailed it. We’d better get out of here and call the cops.”
When we reached the first floor, I grabbed Kevin by the arm. “Hang on a minute. Since we’re here, I’d like to take a look at that parlor floor. Remember when the cat was sniffing around? I’ll bet anything Carl Unger’s body is buried right there.”
“Okay, but hurry! This place gives me the creeps!”
When we entered the parlor, I pointed. “Right there was where the cat was sniffing. Let’s take a closer look.”
We both got down on our hands and knees and were examining the floor boards, when we heard a voice.
“What are you two doing in my house?”
We looked up and saw Galen Unger pointing a twelve-gauge shotgun in our direction.
“On your feet! Woodward and Bernstein my ass. I knew the minute I saw you, that you were phonies. Who are you really, and what are you doing here?”
“Okay, Galen,” I said, scrambling to my feet, “the truth. My name is Walt Williams and this is Kevin McBride. My wife bought an old chest at a craft fair. In the false bottom of one of the drawers, I found a manuscript written by your sister, Lenore. In it, she told the whole story about being abused by your father and how she put an end to her torment.”
I saw the look of confusion on his face. “You--- you really found Lenore’s manuscript?”
“I did, and I read about how the two of you buried your father’s body under the parlor floor.” I pointed where we had been looking. “Would I be correct in saying right about here?”
His face contorted into a hideous smile. “He was an evil man. He got what he deserved.”
“I agree completely,” I replied, trying to calm him. “We’re not here to judge you.”
“Then why are you here?” he snapped, waving the barrel of the gun.
“Uhh, just satisfying our curiosity, I guess.”
“And look where that’s gotten you,” he said, tossing me a plastic tie. “Bind your friend’s hands behind him, then turn around.”
I did as I was told and he bound my hands tightly.
“Now, go sit.”
We watched him bring candles from a sideboard and place them in a circle on the parlor floor. After carefully lighting each one, he sat, cross-legged in the middle of the circle and began to speak.
“Oh Lenore, Lenore, my sainted sister. Why have you brought these strangers to my door?”
“Oh, Jesus!” I muttered under my breath.
“What?” Kevin whispered.
“Lenore,” I replied. “I’ve never found an account of what happened after she died. From the looks of that, I’m guessing Galen buried her right next to her old man.”
“Quiet!” Galen ordered. “Can’t you see I’m trying to talk to my sister?”
“Galen,” I said, “Is Lenore there beneath you?”
He nodded and looked down lovingly. “Aye, that she is. I promised I’d keep her close and leave her nevermore.”
Nevermore. There it was again. It gave me an idea.
“Galen, why do you think your sister summoned us from the night’s Plutonian shore? Surely you don’t believe it’s to bring you respite and nepenthe.”
“What the hell is nepenthe?” Kevin whispered.
“It’s a potion that allows the drinker to forget his suffering,” I whispered back. “Be quiet!”
Galen looked at me curiously. “If not respite and nepenthe, then te
ll me, is there balm in Gilead?”
“There is, Galen. Your sister has sent us to tell you that she has been accepted into that distant Aidenn. She is resting in Paradise.”
I saw him take a deep breath and lay down the shotgun. I thought I was making headway, when I heard a ‘meow.’ I looked and saw the one-eyed cat strolling into the room. As soon as Galen saw the beast, his countenance changed from peaceful acceptance to unbridled rage.
He picked up the shotgun and fired at the cat, barely missing his mark. The cat darted under a chair and I could see the one eye peering out in terror.
Galen got to his feet, pulled out his knife, and muttered, “I’ll slit your throat, you mangy devil.”
He threw the chair aside and lunged for the cat. The cat ran between Galen’s legs causing him to lose his balance. He fell, striking his head on a table leg. The knife flew from his hands and landed a few feet from where we were sitting.
“Quick! Grab the knife!” Kevin whispered.
I wiggled to the knife, grabbed it and backed up to Kevin.
“Hold it steady,” he said.
A moment later, his hands were free.
He was about to cut the tie binding my hands when he sniffed. “I smell smoke.”
Evidently, when Galen lunged for the cat, he kicked one of the candles from its circle to the edge of the room where it had ignited the heavy drapes covering the windows.
By the time Kevin had freed my hands, Galen had regained consciousness and was getting to his feet. He grabbed the shotgun and I figured we were going to be his next target, but he seemed to be oblivious to all that was going on around him. He was completely focused on the cat.
“I’ll get you, you filthy beast!”
The cat scurried into the kitchen with Galen close behind.
“This place is going up fast,” Kevin said. “We’ve got to get out of here!”
“Not without Galen,” I said, and headed to the kitchen.
When we got there, the kitchen was empty and the door to the basement was standing open.
I called down. “Galen! The house is on fire. We have to get out!”
My reply was a blast from the shotgun. “Get thee back to the night’s Plutonian shore.”
[Lady Justice 39] - Lady Justice and the Raven Page 3
