Murder at the Art & Craft Fair (21 page)

The two of us laughed. Sometimes laughter was all that
kept us going through the tough moments, when we didn’t seem any closer to
solving the murder than when we first discovered the body

Chapter
Thirty-
Eight

Lou and I were hard at work, getting nowhere fast,
when the phone rang. Few people have my number. Lou was the one I talked to the
most, and he was seated across from me, so I knew it wasn’t him. It was
probably my detective skills that allowed me to realize this. I wondered if it
could be Jennifer missing me already, or Thelma Lou, who was already missing
Lou. Since I was sure the police weren’t after me and I was curious, I picked
it up. I soon learned the police were after me.

“Lieutenant, some guy named George Ingram called here,
looking for you. He said he thought of something that might be helpful to you
in your case.”

I pulled out a pen and wrote down his number. I was
curious as to what he knew that he hadn’t remembered when I questioned him. I
called him immediately.

“Mr. Ingram, this is Lt. Dekker. I understand you have
some information that we might find helpful.”

“Maybe. I just thought of something. I don’t know if
means anything or not, but I’ll let you be the judge of that. Last Saturday
night, my wife and I were on our way to the park. It was a few minutes before
9:00 and we were just a little over a block away when I saw someone pull out
from the side street by the park and almost hit a police car. I didn’t stop to
investigate, but I do know the officer pulled over whoever it was.”

Ingram didn’t know if the driver was male or female
and couldn’t remember what kind of vehicle it was, but he told me which street
the vehicle came from, and I, Cy Dekker, knew the street that the driver pulled
out from dead-ends. It goes nowhere except beside the park, and to the park’s
parking lot. I planned to make a call and find out who received a ticket on
Saturday night. If it was one of our suspects, I would be very interested, but
even if it wasn’t, I would question the person and find out if we had another
name to add to our list.

I hung up the phone, told Lou what Ingram had said. We
talked about it, and something about the whole thing didn’t fit. From
everything I could tell, Wayne Edmonds arrived at Kincaid’s tent a little after
7:00. He claimed to be there around a half an hour, but let’s say he stayed
forty-five minutes. If so, and if he left then and wasn’t the murderer, that
meant that Kincaid’s last customer left him by 7:45. I couldn’t think of any
reason Kincaid would have stuck around another hour, and no one said anything
about him expecting someone else. However, Edmonds did say something about
hearing someone approach Kincaid’s tent just after he left. If so, and if that
someone was the murderer, I didn’t think a murderer would hang around for an
hour after the murder when the place was deserted. He or she had an opportunity
to make a clean getaway. Lou couldn’t see any reason the murderer would have
stuck around, either. We also couldn’t think of a reason why the murderer would
return to the scene of the crime an hour later unless he or she thought they
might have left behind some incriminating evidence. But what could it have
been? Would the murderer have gone back to rob Kincaid? If the murderer was one
of the vendors, he or she would have known that security patrolled the grounds
at night. I doubt if any of them knew what time security arrived, but I would
think that most of them thought security was already in place before everyone
left. I couldn’t even picture a disgruntled customer returning to the scene of
the crime unless he or she left something behind that would identify him or her
as the murderer. But, provided Ingram was correct, and I could see no reason
why he’d call me and lie to me when I could easily check his story, someone
left that park a little before 9:00. We just had to find out who it was, and
why he or she was there.

Lou and I studied the board, looked over our list of
suspects. Just as I was ready to speak, he opened his mouth.

“Cy, I have an idea. I can think of one thing the
murderer would go back to retrieve.”

I too had thought of one thing, but I wanted to hear
Lou’s one thing first and see if it was different from mine. It wasn’t.

“Joan Arrington said that Kincaid’s truck and trailer
were in the motel parking lot when she left for the park on Sunday morning.
They were there later when some of the guys went to check and dust the room, so
I figure that Mrs. Arrington was telling the truth. Unless the murderer walked
to the park, he or she would have to have gone back to retrieve whatever they
drove to the park.”

I picked up the phone to call Ingram again. I knew he
told me he didn’t pay any attention to the type of vehicle the officer had
pulled over, but I thought he would have noticed if it was a truck pulling a
trailer. He did know that much. He thought it was a truck, van, or SUV, but he
couldn’t say which, but he did know that whatever it was wasn’t pulling
anything. He also thought the vehicle was dark, but then most vehicles would
look dark in the dark, unless they were a really light color, like white or
tan. Everyone I had talked to drove either a truck or a van. Even the locals.
Maybe the murderer drove Kincaid’s vehicle away after the murder, and then went
back to retrieve his or her own mode of transportation. If that was the case, I
doubted if a lot of tickets had been given out Saturday night, and even if
there were, I doubted if more than one was given to anyone whose name I would
recognize. Maybe this was the break we needed.

+++

Lou and I took a break, decided to rest our brains for
a few minutes. I headed for plates and knives, and cut a small piece of pie and
cheesecake. It reminded me of the old days, only our portions were smaller this
time. As I ate and savored each bite I wondered if there were other possible
suspects who might live in Danville, or if I needed to ask Joan Arrington more questions.
While I enjoyed Jennifer and Thelma Lou’s company immensely, I knew that Lou
and I were capable of going to Danville alone, and I felt sure I could find
Burke’s Bakery and The Twisted Sifter without the girls’ help. I could even
find Sutton’s and Carrabba’s in Lexington.

I weighed my options and felt it would be worth it to
Wii a half hour longer for a couple of days. Now, if we could just get the case
solved, so we’d have plenty of time to leave town, we could go back to
Lexington and Danville and take our time getting there and back. Still, the
trip would be more fun if the girls were along, and if Lou drove.

+++

I didn’t know if I could look online and find out who
might have gotten a ticket on Saturday, but I knew I could place a call and
find out. At least I thought I could. Actually, I did, but I wasn’t satisfied
with the answer I received. Only two tickets were given out in Hilldale on
Saturday night, and neither of those was given out in the downtown area.
Luckily, I remembered that not every stop leads to a ticket. Some officers are
more lenient than others, in certain situations. I asked for the names of the
officers on duty Saturday night who might have been in the downtown area and
stopped a motorist. I was given four names. I asked how many of those officers
were working at that moment. Two were. I had dispatch put me through to those
two officers, and then got the phone numbers for the two officers who weren’t
on duty. Luckily, I was a police officer and the dispatcher knew me. Otherwise,
there was no chance I would have gotten any numbers.

One of the two officers on duty had given out a ticket
Saturday night, but not near downtown. Although I didn’t think it would lead
anywhere, I asked for the names of those people who received tickets anywhere
in Hilldale on Saturday night, and, as I expected, none of the names were
familiar. Since I knew that, I didn’t bother to ask the officer the name of the
person to whom he gave the ticket. Neither officer who was on duty was any help
to me, so I called the two who were not. At the first house, the wife picked
up, told me her husband was asleep, told me he would be up in an hour to go to
work, and if I could wait, she would appreciate it if I did. I told her I would
call back in a little over an hour. I tried the second number and received no
answer. A second call a little later to the previously sleeping officer netted
me nothing. That officer hadn’t stopped anyone in the downtown area. A second
call to the other officer found him still not at home. I called downtown again
to see if there was another number where I could reach him. The dispatcher
checked and informed me that he left Sunday on vacation and would be back at
work on Monday. It was late Thursday afternoon. If we weren’t able to solve the
case by Saturday, I planned to call the officer sometime Sunday to see if he
gave anyone a warning. At this point, my brain was tired, and so was my body. I
was ready to call it a day. I told Lou I had nowhere to go and asked him if he
was willing to drive Lightning home and come back in the morning. He told me he
would be happy to drive Lightning home and he’d mull over whether or not to
return in the morning. I told him to mull over the murder, instead. He said he
was capable of mulling both. I wondered if he was capable of mulling either.

I had planned the rest of my day. I would Wii for a
while, and then fix myself a salmon salad for supper. Maybe the combination of
exercise and eating good food would help me lose some of my ill gotten gains.
And then I remembered that Lou and I had agreed to save the rest of the
cheesecake and pie and eat them for breakfast. I needed to have a talk with
God, suggest that He change the types of foods that put weight on us. On second
thought, I nixed that thought. He already knew I had thought it. I hoped He
didn’t punish me for having the thought.

+++

I looked at my watch. Ordinarily when Jennifer or I
return from seeing each other, whichever one of us traveled will call the other
to let him or her know that they arrived home okay. But Jennifer knew that Lou
and I were working on a case, so she told me to call her when we decided to
call it a night. I could tell by the time that she was either home, or almost
home. I picked up my phone and dialed.

“Is this that wonderful, gorgeous creature who spent
the last few days in Hilldale?”

“Well, one of those is correct. I did spend some of
the last few days in Hilldale. Were you the guy who arrested me when I was
there?”

“I’ll have you know that I didn’t try to stop anything
you wanted to do.”

Jennifer laughed. It’s nice when others know you are
funny, especially when the one who laughs is the one you want to impress.

“I was just checking to see if you got home okay.”

“No, this big storm came up and I had to pull over and
spend the night in an outhouse. Good phone reception here, though.”

“That isn’t even funny.”

“No, I don’t guess it is, Cy. Yes, I got home about a
half hour ago. Didn’t have any problems except missing you all the way home.
Have you solved your case yet?”

“No, I was too busy thinking of you. We did get some
leads though, and both Lou and I are optimistic that we’ll have it solved by
Monday.”

“Does that mean that you’ll be down to see me on
Tuesday?”

“I thought you were going to move up here.”

“I’m still thinking about it, seriously. I can think
of one really good reason to move up there.”

“Oh, and what is that?”

“Don’t you remember? Sutton’s, Burke’s, The Twisted
Sifter, and Carrabba’s.”

“Any other good reasons?”

“Well, there is someone there that helps me enjoy
those places a little more.”

“Only a little more?”

“Well, maybe a lot more. Enough that I’ll be dreaming
about him tonight.”

“So, it’s a guy, is it?”

“Yep. One of those law enforcement types.”

“You have to watch those guys.”

“Oh, believe me, I do, every time I see him.”

We continued our sweet nothings that would make most
eavesdroppers gag, and then after a few more minutes of infatuation, we hung
up. Even after we hung up, I continued to think of her a few more minutes, and
then did what I needed to do. I went to bed.

Chapter
Thirty-Nine

I went to bed early Thursday night, so when I got up
Friday morning my head was clearer than it had been in a few days. I was
immediately able to think of the things that were bothering us the most. Earl
Clements had told us that he gave the statue to Joan Arrington. Joan Arrington
had told us he did not. Did that mean that one of those two was the murderer,
or had one of them lied for an entirely different reason, and if so, what was
that reason? Could one of them be protecting someone else? If so, who? We also
knew that whoever murdered Kincaid had robbed him, too. At least someone had
robbed him, and my money was on the murderer. I wondered if there was some way
we could find that money. The other thing we had learned is that someone,
probably the murderer, had been pulled over by a police officer sometime after
the murder on Saturday night. At least, I didn’t see any reason why George
Ingram would lie to us, and I figured that Kincaid was already dead before
9:00. If not, maybe the police stop meant nothing.

At any rate, I had thought enough without having Lou
around, so I planned to wait until I could bounce these ideas off him. He would
be here soon enough. It was time for me to read my daily devotionals and pray, exercise,
and shower.

+++

“Lou, we have a statue, two stories about it, money,
and a pullover. Can you make anything out of that?”

“Let me see. The statue might be the bird in
The
Maltese Falcon,
the money could allow us to take a much-needed vacation to
Gatlinburg, or if we have enough of it, some exotic island, and the pullover
could be the one my Aunt Bessie got me for Christmas. How did I do?”

“You were closer before you opened your mouth. I’m
talking about the case, and you don’t have an Aunt Bessie.”

“Cy, are you telling me she died?”

“No, I’m telling you that you never had one.”

“Are you saying I’m adopted?”

“No. Just special. But don’t give up hope. They’re
still holding out for a cure. Now, are you ready to work on this case or not?”

“Okay, what have you got?”

“Remember the statue, the two stories, money, and a
pullover?”

“I don’t like pullovers. They always mess up my hair,
and I’ve never seen a cop wear one.”

“Lou, I’m talking about a police pullover.”

“They make a special kind for cops?”

“We’re talking murder here.”

“Now, Cy, I think you’re going a little too far. I
don’t plan to wear a pullover, but I wouldn’t murder someone over something
like that.”

“Well, I’m contemplating that option, if the dumb
sergeant doesn’t start cooperating. Now, what do you think about the
conflicting stories about the statue, and the driver one of our officers pulled
over near the park the night of the murder, and how do you think the robbery
plays into this?”

“Oh, that’s easy, Cy. One of those two is lying, which
means that one of them is probably the murderer. If we wait, he or she is
liable to spend some of that money and allow us to catch him or her, or we
could go ahead, make a call, and find out who was pulled over the night of the
murder.”

“I’ve already done that, Cy. Evidently the officer who
pulled someone over is on vacation this week.”

“Which is where we could be too, if we were the ones
who had Kincaid’s money.”

“Well, I doubt if he made enough for a trip to that
exotic island, so we might not be able to go any farther than Gatlinburg. But
we have to solve this case before we can go anywhere, so have you got anything
to contribute?”

“You ain’t ever had a friend like me?”

“That’s for sure. You’re different, Lou. So, what’s
the matter? Don’t tell me you wrecked Lightning?”

“Okay, I won’t tell you, Cy.”

“You mean you wrecked Lightning?”

“No. I’m a good driver.”

“Then what’s with this friend stuff?”

“Our clue of the day, Cy.”

“You’re my clue of the day?”

“No, our clue of the day is ‘You ain’t ever had a
friend like me.’”

“You know. I’ve heard that before.”

“I know. I just said it.”

“No, I think it was in a movie. Maybe
The Lion
King.”

“Well, I know how you can find out, Cy.”

“Google, here I come!”

I went and Googled, and found out it was a song the
genie sang in
Aladdin.

“I wonder if this means we’re about to get three
wishes.”

“Somehow, Cy, I doubt it. Got any other guesses?”

I thought about it.

“Well, Lou, we’re either to think of Aladdin, a genie,
or the word friend. I wonder if this means that Kincaid was murdered by a
friend.”

“If so, Cy, then it must have been one of those two
women, either Joan Arrington or Lois Weddington. But why would a friend kill
someone? Maybe we’re supposed to think of the word friend in some other
context.”

“Like what?”

“Maybe God wants us to think about this a little bit.
Otherwise He would have sent us an envelope with the murderer’s name in it.”

“Yeah, and enough evidence to convict him or her.”

“Cy, this sounds to me like it is something best
tackled after we tackle the rest of the pecan pie and cheesecake.”

Lou was making progress. Or was he regressing? I
thought back to just a few, short months ago. The new Lou would never had
uttered the words “pecan pie” and “cheesecake.” The old Lou devoured such
delicacies. I looked at him. He didn’t seem to be gaining his weight back. He
must have his Wii in hyperdrive. Maybe I could get him to show me how I could
do the same.

I got out some plates and glasses. We sat down,
finished eating the rest of our stash, and savored every bite of it. I hoped
our sugar intake would replenish every one of those leetle gray cells Poirot
talks about.

+++

I leaned back in my recliner. Lou sprawled out on my
couch. Both of us were sure that God wanted us to be comfortable while we
thought about what He was trying to tell us. Neither Lou nor I could see that
what God wanted us to see had anything to do with best friends. As far as we
knew, Kincaid didn’t have a best friend. At least not one at the art and craft
fair. And best friends are not usually the people who are most likely to murder
you. I tried to think of friends in every context I could. I got nowhere fast.
After a few more frustrating moments, I did what any red-blooded detective
would do. No, I didn’t make a mad dash for the nearest donut emporium. I sprang
up out of my recliner and plopped down in front of the computer. Again, I
wondered how I ever solved any murder without Google.

I keyed in the word “friend.” In a matter of seconds,
I was reminded of the TV show that everyone except Lou and I had watched all
those years it was on. Me, I’d seen one episode, and that only recently, and
that’s when I fell in love with Jennifer Aniston. Jennifer Aniston. The former
love of my life. The second best looking Jennifer God ever created. I refocused
my eyes and my mind on the computer. I needed to scroll down. I was definitely
getting off track. The next few notations did nothing for me, but then I saw
it. The new kind of friend. A friend on Facebook.

“Do you think this could be it?” I asked Lou.

Evidently, I asked him a little too loudly. My
question woke him, and he stumbled to his feet to see what I had muttered.

“Do you think God meant for us to try Facebook?”

“Cy, if He hadn’t meant for us to use Facebook, he
wouldn’t have invented Facebook.”

“Actually, I think he let someone else do that, and I
don’t think every invention has been a good one.”

“But I don’t see anything wrong with Facebook, Cy,
unless you overuse and abuse it.”

“But that’s not my question. Do you think that God
wants us to use Facebook to solve this murder? Do you think today’s clue for
the day has to do with Facebook?”

“If so, why didn’t God just say Facebook?”

“Because He wants us to do part of the work.
Otherwise, every now and then He would just lean over from heaven and zap some
of the bad guys into jail.”

We were getting nowhere fast. I told Lou to be quiet
so I could mull over how Facebook could help us solve the case. He mumbled
something and went back to lie down on the couch and be quiet. I think he was
having withdrawal symptoms from Thelma Lou. Here she was in the same town we
were in, and still it bothered him that we had to work on this case and he
didn’t get to see her as much as he wanted. I tried not to think about how much
I wanted to see Jennifer.

I sat there for a few minutes and contemplated our
dilemma. Finally, I felt that I needed to go to my Facebook page to receive
God’s message. As soon as I did, Lou popped up off the couch again, pulled up a
chair, and was at my side. Maybe he wanted to help. Maybe he wanted to know if
he was my only Facebook friend. At least that wasn’t as humiliating as having
someone watch you weigh on the Wii. Or exercise on the Wii.

I keyed in Tom Kincaid’s name, went to his info, read
his history, looked at his friends, and checked out his photos. I found nothing
that told me he expected a particular person to murder him. He had few friends
on Facebook, all of them seemed to be guys who lived where he did, and none of
their names were familiar to me. I needed to move on. I needed fewer suspects,
not more of them.

I looked up at the white board, still with all our
suspects’ names intact. I started at the top, keyed in the name to see if he
was on Facebook. He was. I clicked on his page to see what I could learn about
him. His recent history included no confession of murder. I’d heard that some
stupid criminals boast of their criminal activity on Facebook, or provide video
evidence on YouTube.

I scrolled down and read each of his postings, found
nothing incriminating. I clicked on suspect number two’s friends, read each of
their names. No light came down from heaven and illuminated my computer screen,
so I moved on his photos. There were only a few. Again, nothing enlightening. I
decided to repeat the process and selected one of the women. It was as I
expected. She had posted more often, had more friends, and had posted more
photos than the guy I’d just studied, but I still found nothing that told me
she was a murderer. I thought I was in the right place, but I wasn’t sure what
information I was to use, or how I was to use it. I turned to Lou who already
had his palms upraised. He was either praising God, or telling me not to shoot
the messenger, just because he couldn’t figure it out, either.  I thought of
sending him back to the couch for another nap. Evidently, it takes pecan pie
and cheesecake longer to work their way to the brain than I thought. And I’d
always heard the words a sugar rush. In my case, the sugar wasn’t hurrying.

It was another thirty minutes before I thought of
combining the clue of the day with what we needed to know. I didn’t expect
anyone to admit on Facebook that they sold double the amount at the art and
craft fair that they expected to sell. I doubted if anyone had admitted to
robbery, so I didn’t expect to find out on Facebook who had doubled their take.
Nor did I expect to find out who got stopped by a cop on Saturday night. Those
are not the kinds of things you admit, especially if you were pulled over just
after murdering someone. Well, some people had, but I was assuming my suspects
were smarter. The only other thing I could think of was the difference of
opinion between Earl Clements and Joan Arrington, as to whether or not Clements
gave his statue to Arrington, so that she could return it to Kincaid. If one of
them was lying, surely that one was the murderer, but was there any scenario
where both of them could be telling the truth? If there was, I didn’t see it.

I continued to think about the case using Facebook.
And then it hit me. I wondered how many of my suspects were on Facebook. At
least two of them were. And I wondered if Facebook would let me print their
photos. I keyed in every name on my list. The only one who wasn’t on Facebook
was probably the only one on my list who didn’t own a computer, Vernon Pitts.
If he had one, his son would have driven nails into the monitor the day he
hooked it up.

I didn’t know what to do next, so I did what I usually
do when I’m electronically challenged. I called Larry, one of our computer
experts downtown. In short time I was told that he could download any photos I
was allowed to see, and then after downloading them, he could print them. I
read Larry a list of everyone on my suspects list, and then added three more
names to the list. I also told him to see if he could find a photo of Vernon
Pitts. He told me that I could pick up the photos after lunch. Lou and I
continued to look at all the information each of these people had put on
Facebook, and see if anything gave us any ideas. After falling short again, I
switched off the computer and Lou and I headed to lunch.