Murder at the Art & Craft Fair (14 page)

Chapter
Twenty-Four

Figuring that we had learned all that we were going to
learn at that moment, Lou and I got up to leave and we bid Edmonds adieu.
Edmonds didn’t seem guilty, but then we’d been over all of that before. Our
murderer could turn out to be our most likely or least likely suspect, but our
murderer would turn out to be someone. Regardless of whom our murderer was, if
Edmonds had a messed-up neighbor, I’d yet to meet her, so Lou and I sat out in
front of Edmond’s house discussing the case for a few minutes. I hoped that
Edmonds had gone back to his puzzle.

“Well, Lou. Another one down and a few more to go.
What says you this time?”

“This guy doesn’t seem any guiltier than Joan
Arrington, so I guess the two of them were in on it together. I’m ready to cuff
them. How about you?”

My thoughts turned to the one I was ready to cuff, but
she was off in another part of Hilldale, hopefully missing me as much as I was
missing her. I planned to question only one other suspect that day, so I
planned to stop by the house and call Jennifer before I headed out into the
country to see if she and Thelma Lou wanted to have dinner with two confused
guys. But first, it was time to pay attention to Lou, again.

“Earth to Cy. Are you with me here?”

“Sorry, Lou, I was busy thinking about the one I want
to cuff.”

“Is that cuff as in not let her get away, or cuff as
in hit up the side of the head?”

I laughed.

“Well, Lou, I must admit I’ve got names on both of
those lists. But back to the suspect list. What are you thinking?”

“It seems like everyone we’ve talked to so far either
seems like they definitely did it, or there’s no way he or she did it. I’m just
trying to figure out which list the murderer is actually on.”

“Let me tell you what I’m thinking, Lou. I’m thinking
there were a lot of people around that tent after things closed down on
Saturday night, but before that security couple arrived. We know that Edmonds
was there, that Joan Arrington was there, and that that bird I haven’t gotten
ahold of yet, Delbert Cross, was there. Earl Clements even changed his story to
say that he was there. And I’d be willing to bet that the guy we’re on our way
to see in a little bit, Vernon Pitts, was still around there somewhere, fuming.
We’re not sure about Delmont or Lois Weddington, but one of them could have
been there, and could be the murderer we are looking for.

As I was getting ready to pull away, I looked up at
the house we’d just left. Edmonds stood just inside the front door watching us.
Was this a guilty man watching, or one who was merely curious?

+++

I drove through town, planning to stop by my place for
a minute before heading out to no man’s land to see what story Vernon Pitts
would tell me. I looked up and saw George Michaelson getting out of his car. I
blew the horn, motioned for him to wait for a minute.

“Well, if it isn’t the sand art duo. How are things at
the beach?”

“George, unlike you, we’re working here, so could you
please let up on this sand box stuff?”

“So, Mr. Crime Solver, what do you need me to help you
with today?”

“Are you familiar with Crawdad Lane?”

“What’s the matter? You got a date with Vernon Pitts?”

“Why Vernon Pitts? Is he the only one who lives on
Crawdad Lane?”

“As a matter of fact, he is. Well, he and that
delinquent son of his. Cy, in that family, the apple didn’t fall far from the
tree.”

“What’s Pitts done?”

“Well, he’s meaner than a snake, been known to hit
someone over the head with a bottle, whether he’s drunk or sober. If you’re on
your way out to see him, I wouldn’t turn my back on him if I were you. Keep
your weapon where you can get at it easily.”

“Well, we are on our way out to see Pitts. I’ve never
been out that way and don’t know much about that part of the county. What can
you tell me about it?”

“Well, it’s isolated. Not like Precipice Point. But
it’s way out almost to the end of Fog Bottom Road. In case you don’t know, Fog
Bottom dead-ends at the river. Just before you get to the end, there’s this
dirt road that heads off to the right. That’s Crawdad Lane. It’s just one lane,
trees on both sides, and it’s a little more than a mile long. Pitts lives at
the end of it. There used to be a couple of other houses on that road, but the
people moved out and those houses have pretty much fallen apart. So has Pitts’s
place, but it still has a roof over it. But that’s his business, as long as he
stays out there and doesn’t bother anyone. Actually, there’s almost no one out
there for him to bother. You have to come back toward town on Fog Bottom a
couple of miles before you find a house. It’s pretty much a worthless field on
one side of the road, nothing but trees on the other. The road’s narrow, too.
So, if I were you, I’d make sure I’d be back in town before dark. You’ve seen
the movie
Deliverance,
haven’t you, Cy?”

I wondered if George was telling the truth, or if this
was another of his ways to get the best of Lou and me.

“So, George, you interested in riding out there with
us?”

“No, I love my family too much. But if you don’t make
it back, Cy, can I have your sand art?”

“That and the sandbox too, George. I really appreciate
the gift. And Lou here has enjoyed his Tinker toys, too.”

“Someone giving you gifts, too, Cy?”

I told George that some of us still have to work for a
living, and that I’d better get started, because I just might have a hot date
after I got back. George laughed.

I looked at my watch. Just in case George was telling
the truth, I wanted to get out to Pitts’s place and back by 7:00. I still had
time to run by the house, and so I did, went in and called Jennifer’s cell
phone.

“Interested in a date tonight?”

“I guess so. Who is this?”

“Very funny.”

“So, have you and Lou already solved your murder?”

“Not yet. We’re about to drive out in the country and
see this one other bird. Then, we’ll save the rest of them for tomorrow. We plan
to be back by around 7:00. Interested in a late dinner?”

“If I say ‘no’ does that mean you’re coming on now?”

“I wish. A cop’s work is never done.”

“It had better be by 7:00. Are you planning on making
this a double date?”

“What do you think? Should we let those other two
lovebirds enjoy our company?”

“Might as well. One of them has been very nice to me.”

“Well, you tell Lou I said he’d better stop.”

Jennifer laughed.

“Cy, has anyone ever told you that you’re funny?”

“Yes, I have, many times.”

“Well don’t stop telling yourself. And you be careful.
I’ll worry about you until you get here.”

“Maybe you should worry about me after I get there.”

Jennifer laughed again.

I told her we’d better start grilling our suspects if
she wanted to get to dinner before all the restaurants closed. I hurried back
to the car, where Lou had waited for me.

“It took you long enough, Cy. Did you get to say all
of your sweet nothings?”

“No, I’ve saved a couple of them for later. Now, are
you ready to go and talk to the bad guys?”

“I’d rather talk about the good girls.”

+++

There are many roads you can take leading away from
downtown Hilldale, but only four of them lead out of the county. The others
resemble a maze which meander this way and that, before arriving at a dead-end,
causing whoever takes them to backtrack to get somewhere. Some of these roads
are well populated. Some are even dotted with a new subdivision or two. But
others are sparsely populated by anything other than a few four-legged
creatures they won’t let you keep in town. While the drive out to Precipice
Point is quite scenic, I soon learned that the same can’t be said about the
drive out Fog Bottom Road. The left side of the road as you head out of town is
littered with unkempt bushes and fields much in need of upkeep. The right side
of the road is deep with trees, but even the trees look like they’ve had better
years, and most of those trees are dead, even in the spring and summer. It’s as
if whoever owns the property died years ago and no one thinks the upkeep is
worth it. If someone is traveling out Fog Bottom Road all the way to the end,
even if that person is in a good mood when he or she leaves town, they will
become depressed before the drive is over. Our late Monday afternoon drive
consisted of taking the road almost to the end, then turning off onto a road
that looked even worse. That is, if you want to call Crawdad Lane a road. It
doesn’t qualify as one in my book.

Chapter
Twenty-Five

The drive out County Road 1628 wasn’t too bad. The
ups, downs, and curves reminded me of a children’s rollercoaster, but that was
better than an adult version. The farther away from town we got, the narrower
the road became. There wasn’t more than a foot on either side of the road
before the terrain inclined before leveling off. There were plenty of trees and
greenery on both sides of the road, but I was too busy staying on the road to
take in the scenery. Few people lived out County Road 1628, so we encountered
no one on their way into town. After a few miles, the road descended, as did
the scenery. Lush green turned to brown. Dead trees abounded.

Things changed again when we turned off onto Fog
Bottom Road. As we turned right and dipped down onto Fog Bottom, I noticed that
the road had been paved, but not in this century. I also noticed that the road
was wide enough to permit oncoming traffic, provided both vehicles were
bicycles, or maybe one bicycle and one riding mower. Or, considering where we
were, maybe a tractor. I didn’t panic. I didn’t feel that two people would be
dumb enough to try this road on the same day. Maybe no one else had been out
there in the last year. And then I remembered Vernon Pitts. I said a little
prayer, asking God not to let Pitts leave his residence until after Lou and I
were safely back in town.

Desolate was the word that came to mind when I looked
from one side of the road to the other. It looked as if the locusts had been
here and they hadn’t left anything behind. I figured any property out this way
had to look better than the vegetation. That was until I saw “the property.”

I looked off to the left and saw a trailer; faded
blue, white, and rust, and cramped. It was in such sorry shape, that if its
residents decided to camp out it would be an upgrade. Not even a real estate
agent with a flair for the English language and a penchant for lying could make
that place sound habitable, and yet, I was pretty sure I saw a light on inside.
I just knew that I didn’t plan on knocking on the front door and asking for
directions. I’d seen enough movies to know I shouldn’t do that in a place like
the one where I found myself. I was sure that when snow fell there in the
winter, the color of the snow would be gray.

I drove on. I believe I had one hand on the wheel and
the other on my gun. I was sure that if we did encounter someone named Vernon
Pitts that there would be a graveyard next to his house, and there would be two
open graves, already dug, for Lou and me. I wondered if we could get back-up
quicker than Pitts could dig a couple more graves.

I tried to rid my mind of such thoughts and focused on
Jennifer. When I did, things seemed to change to a lighter shade of pale. I
didn’t cheer up for long. My mind clicked back to the matter at hand. I
wondered if anyone would ever find our bodies. I knew that someday, when fast
food restaurants inhabited this part of the county, that someone would find
Lightning, pale yellow and rust, with her doors tore off and her hubcaps
removed. But then I couldn’t remember if she had hubcaps.

We traveled almost a mile before I looked off to the
left and saw a burned-out trailer. I doubted if the locusts had done that. It
must have been Freddie, Jason, or the Indians. I wondered if the former
residents of that trailer had moved to the place we had just passed. The only
other building we saw on that road, and I use the term building loosely, was a
small house that looked like it was only one termite short of the roof
collapsing to the floor. I was sure that no one lived there, and doubted if
anyone had since Garfield (the President, not the cat) was shot, which might
have coincided with the last time the road was paved. But then I figured only
one vehicle traveled that road each day. At least on a normal day. The day I
was there, the road traffic doubled, provided Pitts had left his abode to go to
work.

With nothing else to do, and a flat road in front of
me, I decided to name the area where we found ourselves. As I drove on, I named
both sides of the road. The right side I named Dead Tree Acres. It was nothing
but flat land with lots of trees with no leaves. The left side I named, Past
Its Prime Estates. At one time, probably during the California gold rush, the
left side of the road was home to two trailers and somewhat of a house. If I’d
surmised correctly, the population had decreased by two-thirds. I didn’t figure
that anyone would ever bother the other third, and that person lived much
closer to civilization than Vernon Pitts, provided there was a Vernon Pitts.

I looked over at Lou. He thought my look meant it was
his turn to talk.

“Cy, couldn’t we just give this guy a call and have
him come in and answer our questions?”

“That’s fine with me, Lou. Holler loud.”

“Huh?”

“He doesn’t have a phone.”

“Not even up on the telephone pole.”

“Do you see any telephone poles out here, Lou?”

Lou felt the question meant it was time for him to
shut his mouth. I didn’t even have to remind him that we didn’t have a phone,
either. Well, I had my monstrosity at home, but the cord didn’t reach as far as
Fog Bottom Road. I made a note to call and see how much a longer cord cost, but
then I didn’t think I’d make a second trip out this way, even if I lived to
tell about it.

Things continued on a downward spiral until I passed a
dirt road, well hidden, because it was on the dead tree side of the road, and
there were a lot of dead trees.

As we zipped by, Lou asked, “Do you think that could
have been his road, Cy?”

“Did you see a sign that said it was a road? I didn’t.
Anyway, George said Pitts’s road is just before this road dead ends. If we get
to the end of this road without seeing another dirt something or other, I won’t
drive on into the river. I promise you that. Instead, I’ll turn around, and
we’ll go back and explore that path you saw.”

A few seconds later, we realized that it was indeed
Vernon Pitts’ road that we had passed. We also learned that the brush on both
sides of the road grew close enough to the road that there was no place wide
enough for me to turn around.

I stopped, looked over at Lou, and decided I didn’t
want to park with him. So, I backed up slowly until I passed that dirt path a
second time. This time I signaled so that all the buzzards would know what my
intentions were and turned onto a bumpy dirt path that was worse than anything
we had encountered up to that point, if that was possible. Actually, there was
an occasional piece of gravel left over from the previous regime, but that
didn’t make the going any better. There was no need to post a speed limit sign.
I wasn’t sure that Lightning was going to hold up at the five miles per hour I
was driving. I contemplated having Lou get out and push us to Pitts’s place.
Instead, I asked him another question.

“Should we park here and walk, Lou?”

The look he gave me told me his answer without him
uttering a word. We trudged on, bouncing this way and that. George had told me
the “road” was a little over a mile long. I looked at my watch and figured I
had time to ask Pitts two questions when we finally got there and still get
back to that finely paved Fog Bottom Road before dark. And then I thought I
heard a noise. I couldn’t tell if the two banjos I heard playing were real, or
merely figments of my imagination. If someone was coming after me, they were
going to have to run at least five miles an hour, or have a gun. If they
started shooting, I was going to have Lou lean out the window and shoot back,
to hold them off for a while. I didn’t know how many bullets he had, but I was
sure it was more than Barney Fife’s one. I also wasn’t sure how good of a shot
Lou was. It had been some time since we’d had target practice, and he wasn’t
moving away from the target the last time he shot. And then I remembered. Not
only didn’t I know how good of a shot Lou was, but neither would our attackers.
Maybe one shot would send them on their way. I guess we could circle the VWs if
someone started shooting at us, but then we didn’t have enough bugs to circle.
I guess we could get out and hide behind Lightning, unless Vernon Pitts started
shooting at us from the other direction. Oh, well. I gave up thinking and
trudged on, one rut at a time.