Murder Hits the Road

by K. J. Emrick

  Which led to the next, bigger question. Who would want to do such a thing? Everyone seemed to like Stacia and Ernesto. Cookie certainly did. She’d never heard anyone say a bad word about either of them. Franky saying that Stacia was “flighty” back at the museum was as close as she’d ever heard anyone come.

  “Well, I guess that’s it, then,” Jerry said to her. “If they won’t let us help, us standing here isn’t going to do any good. Let’s go back to the RV and check on Cream. We left him there after the police arrived and I don’t want him getting so hungry that he starts chewing the furniture.”

  “Cream wouldn’t do that,” she insisted. “He’s a good dog.”

  “Of course he is, Cookie. I didn’t mean he wasn’t. But, if you left me alone in the RV for a few hours without anything to eat then I’d start chewing on the table leg myself.” He held her close, but didn’t try to make her laugh, and she was grateful for that. “Come on. I’ll make you lunch for a change.”

  That was sweet of him. She didn’t really have an appetite, but he was right about going inside. The whole park was out here watching events transpire and she felt like they were staring at her just as much as they were at anything else. She didn’t like being on display. Penny and Franky saw her from the other side of the scene and waved, and she nodded back, but neither of them said anything. They looked just as upset as Cookie felt. A few of the others she knew were standing nearby as well. Even Humphrey Middlestead was at the edge of his RV, leaning back on the grill of his vehicle to watch.

  Maybe some food would make her feel better after all, Cookie thought to herself. Food had always been something that comforted her. That was the whole reason why she owned a bakery. It was also the reason why she was carrying twenty extra pounds around her midsection. Well. Maybe a few more than that.

  When they got to their RV and opened the door, Cream came rushing out, through Jerry’s legs, and past Cookie before she could so much as get a word out.

  He padded right up to the edge of the driveway, and sniffed at the air around him, and then pointed himself down the row of RVs, toward where the cops were still investigating the murder of Ernesto Ferris.

  Then he started barking in a high-pitched yip.

  “Cream, shush,” Cookie told him, appalled that her usually well-behaved dog had chosen this moment to become loud and obnoxious. “You’re making a scene. What are you barking at, anyway? It’s not like you’ve never seen police officers doing their duty before.”

  She picked him up in her arms, as much to keep him silent as to make sure that he wouldn’t just up and run off somewhere. As certain as she was that he would never do that, she had been certain that he wouldn’t just sit here and bark for no reason, either. Yet, here he was, upset over something.

  He growled in her arms. He hardly ever did that.

  She followed the line of the chihuahua’s gaze. He wasn’t looking at the police. Cookie considered the man that Cream was currently fixated on.

  The questions in her mind surfaced again. She had been trying to think of some reason why Ernesto would have been murdered. No one hated Stacia and Ernesto. And unless someone snuck into the motorhome park last night specifically to kill Ernesto, then the killer must have been someone already here. The chances of a killer coming here and randomly killing one person for no apparent reason were almost impossible. No, the killer had intentionally murdered Ernesto.

  The killer was someone already here, right here in this group.

  No one here had any reason to hate Ernesto.

  But, there was someone here who hated everyone, and Cream was pointing him out.

  Humphrey Middlestead.

  The old grumpus noticed Cookie and Cream staring at him even with all the chaos going on around the RV park. He scowled back at them for a long moment before he turned and hobbled back inside his rusty Airstream, keeping a hand along the side the whole way to steady himself.

  Now that was interesting.

  Whenever Cookie had seen him before, he’d been using that bulky walking stick of his. The walking stick with the big wooden knob. He never went anywhere without that stick. She didn’t know if he had bad knees or gout in his toes or what, but he obviously needed the cane to get from place to place. Even a short trip to the front of his vehicle should have put that stick in his hands. He couldn’t even get back in without supporting himself against the side of his RV.

  So where was it now?

  Ernesto had been beaten to death with something heavy. The police hadn’t found whatever it was. She and her little friend might have just figured out what to look for.

  “Good boy, Cream,” she told him, scratching him under his chin. “Good boy.”

  CHAPTER 4

  I t was a couple of hours before the police left the park. Whatever plans anyone had originally made for the day had been scrubbed in favor of sitting around in folding lawn chairs and gossiping about what they had seen. Cookie had watched some of it out the windows of their motorhome until she finally drew the curtains in disgust.

  “Shouldn’t they be spending their time on Facebook, or something?” she asked derisively. “They should find something better to do with their time. Stacia is still in that RV, trying to pick up the pieces of her life and they’re out there picking it apart on her.”

  Jerry put his hands on her shoulders, massaging at the knots in her back with his thumbs. “You can’t change human nature, Cookie. Believe me, if you could do that then the world wouldn’t need police officers.” He rubbed at her shoulders for a while, listening to her sigh in pleasure. “So how do you know Stacia is still in her RV? I would have thought she’d want to get out of here and go somewhere else. Does she have family nearby, maybe?”

  “No, she told me all of her relatives are down in Florida. This trip took her even further away from them.” Cookie tried to remember exactly what Stacia had said about her family. “I think she has a daughter, and a sister as well. Poor thing. Now she has to drive that huge motorhome back knowing that her husband was murdered in the bed right next to her.”

  “Is that what she said?” he asked, and Cookie could hear the cop wheels turning in his head.

  “I told you what she said. She got up from bed and had a splitting headache, so she went right to the bathroom. She must have been disoriented from the attack. I don’t think she even knew Ernesto was dead until after I got there.”

  “That’s horrible.”

  They were both silent for a long moment, and even though neither of them said anything out loud, Cookie was very sure that Jerry was thinking the same thing that she was. If anything like that ever happened to Jerry, Cookie would be devastated, and she knew it would be the same for him.

  “We should go and see her,” Cookie decided. “Perhaps take Penny and Franky along.”

  He cleared his throat. “Cookie, you know what the sheriff’s deputies said. They don’t want us helping them.”

  “Well, I’m pretty sure their word was ‘interfering.’ That doesn’t mean they don’t want our help at all.’

  “That’s a pretty fine distinction there, Mrs. Stansted.”

  “Maybe so. Either way, I’m not involving myself in their investigation. I’m just going to help a friend.”

  “Uh-huh,” he said. “You think I don’t know my wife?”

  Reaching up she patted his hand. “I know how well you know me. Which means you know there’s no sense in trying to stop me from going over. Isn’t that right, dear?”

  “I know, but you can’t blame the voice of reason for trying.”

  “Oh, and you’re the voice of reason, are you?”

  “I’m always the voice of reason. It’s not my fault that you won’t listen to me.”

  She turned in his arms to kiss him tenderly on the lips. “I’ll listen to you later, I promise, but right now we need to go talk to Stacia. She’ll need someone to help her through this time.”

  “And,” he added, guessing at her real intentions, “she might know
something about her husband’s murder without knowing that she knows it?”

  “That’s a complicated way of putting it, but yes.” She kissed him again. “I know it isn’t my responsibility, but Stacia is my friend. I would hate to leave here without at least trying to help her find out what happened to her husband. So. Shall we go?”

  He knew better than to argue, like the loving and dutiful husband that he was. Cookie hooked Cream up to his leash and they were off. They made sure to lock the door of their RV before walking the few hundred feet up the row to Stacia’s. Ordinarily they wouldn’t bother when they were only going to be gone for a few minutes but considering someone had been killed in the park last night, locking up just seemed to make good sense.

  When they passed by Humphrey Middlestead’s green Airstream, Cream/ growled like he had before. He ran to the end of his leash, trying to bring Cookie in that direction.

  “No, no,” she told her little doggie pal. “We don’t have any reason to speak to Mister Middlestead. At least, not yet.”

  Jerry gave her an odd look. “Not yet? What did you and Cream cook up?”

  “The recipe is mixing,” she told him, using a familiar analogy to explain her thought process. “It needs a few more ingredients before it will bake, however.”

  “You’ll let me know when the oven dings?”

  “You know,” she said, “I think we may have beaten that metaphor to death.”

  “Hmm. You might be right.”

  They knocked on the door of Stacia and Ernesto’s RV, and Cookie had a flash of memory when they did, back to this morning when she’d done this exact same thing. She held her breath until Stacia came to open the door for them. It was foolish, she knew, but she felt a whole lot better when her friend opened the door for them.

  The last time she’d been here, she’d found Ernesto dead. Thank God lightning didn’t strike twice.

  There were tears in Stacia’s green eyes, and she blinked a few times before she focused on her visitors. “Oh, Cookie. It’s you. Hi. Um, I wasn’t expecting company. I just… I’m not up to seeing anyone.”

  “I understand,” Cookie told her gently. “I’m so sorry, Stacia.”

  “Thank you,” the woman said behind a snuffled batch of fresh tears. “Ernesto was my other half. He completed me, you know? Sure, it’s a line from that movie but it’s also so completely true. I just… I don’t know what I’m going to… Maybe it would be best if I wasn’t alone right now. Come in, please.”

  “Certainly. Is it all right if Cream comes in, too?”

  “Of course it is. Hello, Cream.” Stacia scratched between his ears and his tail began wagging feverishly, thumping against Cookie’s arm. “I think I have some dog biscuits in here for you. He’s such a good dog.”

  “He certainly is.” Cookie had always thought so. Cream was one of the best. That reminded her though… “Where’s yours? Where’s Boxer?”

  “I think he’s hiding under the bed, to tell you the truth. All these people in and out of here and… what happened to Ernesto… I think it’s been too much for him.” She wiped at the tears in her eyes. “He’s a good dog, too, but there would be no way for him to stop whoever did this to my husband. He’s so small. All he could do is bark. He’s not very scary. He prefers to hide when something spooks him. He’ll come out when he’s ready.”

  She dropped herself into one of the bench seats around the breakfast table in the middle of the RV. She looked exhausted. Cookie could only imagine what she must be feeling. Setting Cream down, she found the glass jar of dog biscuits on the counter where Stacia kept them and took one out. When she set it down on the carpet he launched himself at it, happily trapping it under his paws and gnawing at it with his teeth. He’d be at that for a while. He took his time with his treats, and Cookie planned on using that time to talk with her friend. Stacia needed comfort, and Cookie wanted to find answers.

  Jerry sat with her in the other bench seat, across from Stacia. They waited for their friend to say something, to complain about how unfair this was or talk about her memories with Ernesto or wonder what she was going to do now, or anything at all.

  The silence stretched until it was awkward.

  Finally, Jerry cleared his throat. “We just want you to know that we tried to offer our help to the deputies. They didn’t seem to want it.”

  “I don’t know what you could have done,” Stacia shrugged. “Ernesto is dead. Someone hit him until he was dead. They tried to kill me, too, and they failed. That’s all there is to it.”

  She went silent again, and Cookie reminded herself to go easy on her. She just lost her husband. She would have to live with the fact that she hadn’t been able to do anything to stop it from happening. It probably wouldn’t take much to push her over the edge of the emotional precipice on which she stood.

  “We were wondering how you’re going to get home now?” she asked, trying to pick a safe topic.

  A frown settled over Stacia’s face. “I’m… I’m not sure. I can’t drive this home. I don’t want to ever see it again. I’ll ask the man who runs this park if he can sell it for me, or buy it from me, and if not then I just don’t care if he drives it over a cliff so long as I never see it again. I might set fire to it myself.”

  Jerry and Cookie exchanged a look. That seemed a little harsh, considering how much money she and Ernesto must have put into this motorhome.

  “Then how will you get back to Florida?” Jerry asked.

  Stacia waved a hand dismissively. “Me and Ernesto didn’t actually live in Florida. We lived in Tennessee… oh. That’s not what you’re asking, was it? Um. Penny and Franky already offered to take me home. I’m sorry, but I don’t think I could stand going to Titan’s Gorge now.”

  “You have nothing to be sorry about,” Cookie assured her.

  “No, I do. I really do. I’m ruining everyone’s trip. With Ernesto dead… He and I always went on this trip together, and now…”

  “Naturally,” Cookie told her. “No one would expect you to go through with this trip now. Would you like us to help you pack?”

  She shook her head. “No, I want to do that myself. I’ll need some time before I can start putting my husband’s things aside. I just don’t understand how anyone could do this to him.”

  That was the opening that Cookie had been hoping for. “Did he have any enemies?”

  “My husband?” Stacia laughed at that. “He hardly ever went out of the house. It’s hard to make enemies when you never talk to anyone.”

  That was true, Cookie had to admit. “But surely, the police must have some idea?”

  “No, none. In a way, I’m almost relieved. I would hate to find out it was someone I know. And then, if it was a stranger, it would be even worse to think that he got killed for no reason at all.”

  “Would someone you know want to attack you, maybe?” Jerry asked her, pointing to her temple where the blood had crusted into a scar in the middle of that nasty, nasty bruise. “Not your husband, but you?”

  Stacia shrugged again. “The police asked me that, too. No. There’s no one in my life who would want to hurt me or kill me. But I really think Ernesto was the target. Like I told Cookie, I woke up with all this pain in my head and all this blood everywhere, I didn’t know what was happening. I went to check myself out in the mirror in the bathroom to find I’d been hit hard with something, but I’m alive. Ernesto’s not. No. Whoever did this wanted to kill Ernesto. I’m sure of that.”

  She hung her head again and cried silent tears as her body shook.

  Jerry nodded, hearing her out without interrupting. “I don’t mean to put you through this again. I know it’s hard. You know I’m a police officer, and if I do say so myself I’m a very good one. We’ll help you find out what’s going on. Let me ask you, if you don’t mind, did Ernesto have any debts?”

  “No. Nothing like that.” She had to take a breath before she could continue. “We weren’t rich, but we didn’t owe anyone anything, either. My h
usband was almost twice my age. He’d lived long enough to build up a nice little nest egg. Now that he’s gone I’ll have to figure out how to make that last. I’ll have to figure out how to pay bills, and make ends meet… I’ll be fine, I guess, as long as I don’t go buying any yachts.”

  Money issues and personal gripes were two of the biggest motives for murder, as Cookie understood it. Considering the things that she had seen in the last few years in Widow’s Rest, murders and mayhem of all sorts, she knew it was true. From what Stacia was telling them, however, there wasn’t anything like that in this case. That brought them pretty much to a dead end. No suspects, no motives. She’d been hoping Stacia would be able to give them a clue to solve this mystery. Obviously, it wasn’t going to be that easy. They should leave her in peace now, so she could continue grieving.

  There was just one more thing she wanted to do before they left.

  Cream had finished with his little treat, and now he was running back and forth, up and down the motorhome, sniffing around for more.

  “I think we should get Cream back,” Cookie said. “Would you mind if I used your bathroom before we left?”

  “Hmm? Oh. Oh, yes. Sure. It’s the door on the right. The left is a closet.”

  “I remember. Are you sure you’ll be all right if we go? Would you like us to stay?”

  Stacia smiled at her appreciatively. “I might like some company. But… later. Tonight, maybe? I was going to go over to Penny and Franky’s place. We could all meet there, maybe? We could play cards, or something. Just something to take my mind off of things.”

  “All right. That sounds lovely. I’ll just be a moment.”

  Cream whuffed a question at her as she stood up, but then he went back to his exploration of the RV when she walked past him. She opened the door to the tiny bathroom and squeezed her way inside.

  Between the standup shower and the tankless commode and the sink, there wasn’t much space. She looked around quickly. Cookie didn’t need to use the facilities. She’d just said that to have an excuse to be in here and hunt for clues. This morning, Stacia had woken up after being attacked and she’d come right in here from her bed. If there was anything that the cops had missed, it would most likely be in here.