Murder in the Library (3 page)

In my years on the
police force I’ve never been very good at preventing murder. Solving, yes.
Preventing, no. Never did I want to prevent a murder as much as I did that day.
My good friend, my mentor, had been threatened. Lou and I had to think quickly.
What could we do to help the Colonel?

We sat, talked,
wondered. It seemed like we’d toured the whole house, except for the room where
we spent the most time. The Colonel rose to give us a tour of his sanctuary. He
lifted the oriental rug and unlocked the trapdoor. The Colonel descended,
followed by his lemmings. The room below resembled a small trailer. There we
found a couch, a chair, a double bed, a refrigerator, a sink and commode, and
some canned goods. Not much else. But a little more than most people take on a
camping trip. At least, I guess it was. The closest I’ve ever come to a camping
trip was overnight surveillance with Lou. It wasn’t the worst of times, but
surely it wasn’t the best of times. The Colonel pointed out that there was no
way in or out, except the stairs we walked down.

Satisfied, we climbed
back up, a wheeze at a time. Well, one of us wheezed. Lou seemed to have gotten
over his wheezing. The Colonel didn’t seem to have any problem, even though he
was a quarter of a century older than we were. The Colonel marched us to his
secret entrance and exit. He pointed to his Hardy Boy collection, kept from his
childhood. He reached behind of a couple of books,
The House on the Cliff
,
and  
The   Secret of the  Old Mill
, and pulled forward, pulling both
spines down to the shelf. When he did, the last bookcase slid aside. The
Colonel motioned for us to take a step out into the corridor. He flipped a
switch, and all we saw was a corridor twenty feet long and four feet wide, and
a concrete floor. The Colonel hit another switch and the wall slid back into
place, only we were still in the corridor. Our mentor took a remote from his
pocket, hit a button, and a panel slid away, leaving some numbers and a place
to put your fingertips.

“Hit, numbers two, four,
six, and eight, and rest your fingers in the grooves.”

I did. Nothing happened.
Then, Lou tried. Still, nothing.

“Now, I will do it.”

The Colonel hit the
numbers in the same sequence Lou and I had done, rested his fingers where we’d
placed ours. The wall slid back, allowing us reentry to the library.

“See, boys. The place is
a fortress, and yet it isn’t. Any ideas?”

I looked at Lou. He
looked at me. It reminded me of high school. The test looked vaguely familiar,
yet it didn’t.

I had no ideas, but a
couple of questions.

“So, Colonel, I assume
the maid knows of the passageway.”

“No. No one else knows
about it. Not even Martha.”

“So, does it lead
anywhere? Can you get out that way?”

“In and out. At the back
of the living room closet is a hook, like you hang your coat on. If you turn
the hook clockwise, then pull it down, the wall slides away, and I can enter
the passageway. From this side it’s very easy. There’s just a button you push
to exit, but there’s also a mirror that lets me know if anyone is in the living
room. You cannot see the mirror from the other side.”

“Are you certain that no
one has seen you use the passageway?”

“No, but I’m certain no
one else can gain entrance to the library from there, and I’ve never seen any
footprints when I’ve run the vacuum out there, which I did yesterday.  Oh, and
by the way, both the passageway and the library are soundproof, for whatever
that’s worth.”

“Colonel, would you like
for me to get an expert from the department to come out to see if he can come
up with anything?”

“For the time being,
boys, I’d like for it to be just us. Besides, I doubt if anyone else can help.
I designed this room. Still, I’m flabbergasted. Here’s what I want to do.
Tomorrow night, I’d like for you boys to come to dinner, meet the family, see
what kind of reaction you have. Tomorrow, during the day, if you have time,
talk to some of the neighbors, but don’t mention me or my house. Say you’ve
gotten a report of suspicious activity somewhere in this area. Tell them you’re
checking out an area of a few blocks. Ask them if they’ve seen any strangers on
the street, cutting through to the next street. Let’s see where this goes.
Then, decide if we have to go further. I mean, it could be a prank, but whether
it is or not, I’m still dumbfounded as to how someone could’ve put a note in
this room.”

“Would you like for us
to stay here for a while? You still have that room above the garage, don’t
you?”

“We do, but I don’t want
to alarm anyone unnecessarily. Later, I’ll tell Martha that the reason you boys
stopped by was to let us know that someone has been breaking into homes in this
area, in the daytime, but houses where no one was home. I want to ask her to
stay home tomorrow, since I will spend a lot of my time in the library and won’t
be able to hear an intruder. Thursday the Hoskinses will be here, so they’ll be
a deterrent.”

“Unless they’re the ones
we’re looking for.”

“I’ll watch my back. Oh,
I’ve two keys to the library, both on my person. I want to give you one, in
case something does happen to me and you need to get into the library. And if I
do figure out anything, but don’t live to tell about it, I’ll do my best to
leave you a clue. I want you boys to promise me a couple of things. One, if
something happens to me, I want to you find out who did it and protect my
family from violence.  And two, whatever happens to me, don’t let it change
you. I’d be awfully disappointed if I knew that the two of you were moping
around because of me. I know how much the two of you like having fun. Don’t
stop. You’ll catch up with me some day.”

The Colonel paused to
look at his watch.

“Look at the time.
Everyone’s probably home by now, and I’m sure Martha is wondering when we’re
going to come out. Let’s call it a day.”

The Colonel opened the
door, and the two of us stepped out into the hall, near the kitchen. Martha
looked up as we did.

“Well, it’s about time.
Did you talk them to death, Buck? Dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes. Why
don’t you boys stay and eat with us?”

“I’ve already invited
them for tomorrow night, dear.”

“Well, good. Then, they
can eat with us two nights in a row. I planned to have them stay as soon as
they walked in the door. I know how the three of you can talk.”

“Well, boys, what do you
say? Can you stand us two nights in a row? Or do you have plans for the
evening?”

“I don’t have. You,
Lou?”

“Just to eat.”

“Then, it’s settled.
Since no one else is else down yet, while the missus is getting things ready,
why don’t the three of us check out your tree house. It’s been a while since
you’ve used it. We’ll even let you camp out there tonight, won’t we dear?” the
Colonel said, as he smiled at us and gave his wife a wink.

+++

No matter how hard the
Colonel tried, neither Lou nor I were willing to take the express to the tree
house. The express was another of the Colonel’s inventions. The Colonel keyed
in the body weight of whoever was ascending to the tree house, and an equal
amount of weight would descend, getting the party there in record time. Lou
said he would do it, as long as I went first. I’m not sure if he wondered if I
would shoot off into space and he’d get an opportunity to break in a new
partner, or if he’d smirk when the Colonel removed twenty pounds or so before
it was Lou’s turn. Either way, I wasn’t game.

Until Martha called us
to dinner, the three of us stood and talked over the good times Lou and I spent
in the tree house.

Lou and I had a couple
of moments alone while we washed for dinner. If dinner wasn’t up to our
expectations, we’d make up some excuse not to return the next night. We’d eaten
at the Hardesty home before, but that was long ago, before our taste buds had
matured.

It didn’t take us long
before we knew we planned a return trip. The Swiss steak was plentiful, and
there were enough mashed potatoes, gravy, corn on the cob, green beans, and
rolls with butter to get us through. My only disappointment was the lemon
meringue pie. I got only one piece. It had been a while since I quit after one
piece. Anyway, I had a solution. Lou and I would stop at Every Loving Spoonful
and order a banana split before we went home.

+++

The next day was
uneventful. We sandwiched meeting the Colonel’s neighbors in between lunch at
the Blue Moon and dinner at the Colonel’s house. We found a few of the neighbors
at home, but none of them had seen a stranger in  the neighborhood. No one
answered the door at the newest neighbor’s house. Either Bob Downey wasn’t at
home, or wasn’t receiving guests. We’d round him up later, if needed.

+++

I called the Colonel on
Friday to make sure that the maid and handyman didn’t do away with him on
Thursday. He had received no new notes or unexpected visitors with a key to the
library. Satisfied, I spent a lot of my weekend reclining with a good book. I
was beginning to read enough to note that, if I was undisturbed, I could finish
a good book in two Hershey Almond bars. Although when I came to the end of the
book and had to divulge the name of the murderer before the author did, I ate
more candy to help my thought process.

+++

Since nothing had
happened, Lou and I made plans for Saturday night with Betty McElroy and Thelma
Lou Spencer. Betty was merely a friend, a companion for our double-dates. Betty
was still in love with her deceased husband Hugh, and I still loved my Eunice.
We were friends that expected nothing but companionship from our dinners out
with Lou and Thelma Lou. Those two, on the other hand, were smitten with one
another. Not quite smitten enough to get married, but smitten enough that
neither dated anyone else. Saturday night, we enjoyed a good meal together
while we sat and conversed with each other. Lou and I tried to listen when we
were around the girls and tried to learn as much etiquette and manners as was
possible for two old dogs. The four of us were very comfortable together. We
always referred to them as the girls, and they referred to the Colonel always
had, as the boys. The four of us enjoyed our evening immensely, and Lou and I
took the girls home at a reasonable hour, because all of us had church to
attend the next morning.  While I always drive when it is just Lou and me, he
drives when we take the girls out.  While Lou doesn’t like to drive, everyone
likes to ride in his red ’57 Chevy.

Hilldale is a quaint
little town, a good place to raise two-and-one-half children. Such might be the
comment of someone who dissects our little community on the way to somewhere
else. It might even be said by most people who grow up in our hamlet, at least
those who don’t live next door to the most recent murder victim or are called
out of bed to track down each murderer. If I had chosen to work at the corner
grocery with hopes of some day buying the place, I might have said it myself.
But when I graduated from high school and looked at my limited possibilities, I
chose to do my best to help our little corner of the world. Thirty years later,
I’ve no regrets.

Lou and I had wrapped up
our latest murder investigation in late January, and while neither of us puts a
notch on his belt each time we bring another criminal to justice, I’d say that
we are closing in on solving one hundred murders since we offered to take over
the homicide department of the Hilldale Police Department twenty-two years ago
when Lt. Dolan and Sgt. Eversole retired. Retirement. Lou and I made that same
decision just a few months ago. Sort of. Both of us had long since grown tired
of all police work except murder investigations. We also knew that no one was
knocking on the door to take our jobs. So, we sat down with the Chief one day
and formed an agreement. Technically, Lou and I retired, but we agreed to come
out of retirement each time another murder was committed within our
jurisdiction, until the department found someone to replace us. We knew the
chief wasn’t in any hurry to send us on our way. Both of us recently celebrated
our fiftieth birthday, so we’re not over the hill yet, merely striding it, and
we’ve solved every murder we’ve investigated. And not too many people migrate
to Hilldale, police officer or not, so it wasn’t like the line forming to
snatch our jobs resembled that of the masses that descend upon those well-known
stores during the pre-dawn hours on the day after Thanksgiving. Lou and I knew
we could stay as long as we were an asset.

I can still remember
that day, when Chief Collins, now retired, called Tom Morgan, George
Michaelson, Lou, and me into his office to let us know that Dolan and Eversole
would soon be retiring. He told us they would need two men to replace them, and
he felt the four of us were the most qualified to handle the job. Tom Morgan
had talked for some time of moving on, which he did less than a year later, to
a larger city, and a bigger department. Two years later, he came back to tell
us he regretted the move, but planned to stick it out a while longer. When Tom
passed on the promotion, that left George, Lou, and me, and all three of us are
still with the department over two decades later. Lou and I’ve been buddies
since before we started elementary school, and George wasn’t about to break us
up. Besides, George told me then, and many times since, that Lou and I were
more suited to homicide than he was. Lou has always liked solving things, and
while small town murders are a lot different than figuring out the latest
crossword puzzle, or even identifying the murderer before Perry Mason catches
him or her, by the grace of God, and the six months training we received from
Dolan and Eversole, we were able to step in without missing a beat. Oh, we’ve
stumbled around a few times, but we’ve learned a lot in our stumbling, and
always managed to arrive at the right conclusion.

When we solved our
latest murder at the end of January, we had no inkling of what was to come in
April, but other than hoping for warmer weather, we never thought of April at
the end of January. April was over two months away.  We still had the slushy
snows of February, the howling winds of March, and the spring rains of early
April to deal with first.

Snow. Hilldale is far
north of sunny Florida, so each year we know there is a good possibility of
snow through February, and into March. Still, retired or not, we have refrained
from taking up any new hobbies, such as ice fishing or snowmobiling. We don’t
get enough snow in Hilldale, Kentucky to do either of them. Besides, both activities
require more exertion than Lou and I’ve been used to, and there is an element
of danger in each, and neither provides enough warmth to heat our bodies to the
temperature we prefer. We toyed with the idea of going shopping for snowshoes,
if we lost our senses, but decided to strap tennis rackets to our shoes if the
silly notion became more than a notion. Besides, snowshoes means walking.
Walking means exercise. And exercise is something I don’t plan to do unless it
involves catching a murderer, or a good meal. The only way I will take up any
winter sport would be if my next-door neighbor promises to try out for hockey
goalie without any protective equipment, and plans to use her mutt to catch the
puck. Lou and I adhere to the same exercise program; recliner to bathroom,
bathroom to recliner, recliner to Lightning, Lightning to Blue Moon Diner, Blue
Moon Diner to Lightning, Lightning to recliner.

Neither of us had a
reason to retire. Lou is a bachelor, and I’ve been a widower longer than I’ve
been anything else. My wife Eunice succumbed to cancer just a few years after
we married. Both Lou and I felt we needed some kind of hobby if we retired,
because no one can eat twenty-four hours a day, although the idea seems mighty
tempting. Both of us were adamant that we didn’t need any hobby that caused our
weight to yo-yo, because we knew that was unhealthy. So, we decided to read
about the literary world’s version of people gifted in the same way Lou and I
are. Nero Wolfe became my hero. Anyone who loves food and staying at home as
much as he does is all right in my book. True, the man has issues. No man
should fool around with orchids. And I never developed the love of beer that he
has. It is probably his twice-a-day trip up the elevator to see those blasted
orchids that keeps his weight from ballooning above three hundred pounds.

If I hadn’t chosen to
take semi-retirement, I might never have learned about Wolfe, Sam Spade,
Hercule Poirot, Charlie Chan, Sherlock Holmes, and some of the other sleuths of
days gone by. Even though I was gifted, I wasn’t so much so that I couldn’t
learn something from the literary giants of sleuthdom. Maybe some day what I
learn in those books might help me solve a case one day sooner. While these
mysteries help enlighten people as to the mighty acumen of the police force, I
must say that even though these men I mentioned measure up to my 
accomplishments,  I  cannot  say the same about those who have sidekicks. Sgt.
Murdock is much more helpful to me than Dr. Watson ever was to Holmes.

If you read rather than
skimmed an earlier paragraph, you might have noticed references to Lightning
and the Blue Moon Diner. Lightning is my mode of transportation. No
gas-guzzling black tank for me. Lightning is a canary yellow VW beetle. The
Blue Moon is the diner responsible for making us into the men we have become.
No place serves stick-to-your-ribs food like the Blue Moon and has two better
women to serve it to us than Rosie and Thelma. Both treat us better than any
wife or mother ever could.

I don’t want you to get
the wrong idea about Lou and me. True, we are retired, in a way, and neither of
us cooks his own meals, or mows his own lawn. Lou lives in an apartment
building, and I hire someone to do mine. It might sound like all we do is
sleep. In truth, Lou and I lead active lives. Even though we seldom cook, we
make frequent trips to the grocery. I’ve to stock up on Hershey Almond candy
bars, and Lou loads up on M&Ms. Plus, both of us has to have enough
easy-to-fix food on hand to satisfy an unexpected, late-night craving. The Blue
Moon isn’t an all-night establishment, and there are times when the severity of
the weather wins out over eating the food God meant for us to eat. Sometimes we
have to eat junk. Well, junk and candy. While I do plow into the latest plate
of food at the Blue Moon, I take my time when eating my candy. I meticulously
extricate one almond at a time from my candy bar. I savor each morsel of
chocolate as it melts in my mouth. The feeling is so heaven-like that if I ever
decide to take a vacation, or to relocate, Hershey, Pennsylvania is the only
place I would consider. I wonder if every store in that town sells Hershey
bars. And are the streetlights shaped like Hershey Kisses? Don’t they have some
kind of festival up there?  I must check with one of my friends who has a
computer. Hershey might be worth a visit.

Yeah, that’s another
thing about Lou and me. Neither of us owns a computer, cell phone, or any other
up-to-date electronic device except a DVD player.  My phone is black, heavy,
and has a rotary dial. So what if I don’t have Caller I.D. or Call Waiting.
I’ve made it this far without all that stuff.

One change Lou and I
made since retirement is that we recently agreed to socialize with the outside
world. I mentioned earlier some of the literary detective heroes. While I’d
heard of many of them since I was a child, it was only after retirement that I
began to read and study them. Lou suggested we frequent the Scene of the Crime
Mystery Bookstore, and since it didn’t require rigorous activity or missing any
meals to do so, I agreed to accompany him to check it out. We checked it out
all right. Or should I say we left our checks. Our first visit cost each of us
$148.23. Both of us bought the same books and had the same agenda. Read the
books in a certain order and discuss them afterward. I learned something from
that first visit. On our second visit, when we escaped we had spent less than
$100 each. I’ve learned that I need to buy fewer books or buy paperbacks. At
least that’s my thinking until our next visit to Scene of the Crime.

In a weak moment, Lou
and I agreed to attend a monthly get-together of mystery readers. So far, we
have attended only once, but a couple of other readers recommended some
contemporary authors to us. I made a “to buy” list for our next visit. I
planned to try a book from the Death on Demand series and one from the Henri O
series by Carolyn Hart, the Alpine series by Mary Daheim, a selection from the
Claire Malloy series by Joan Hess, a whodunit from one of Tim Myers’s series,
and a book from the Puzzle Lady series by Parnell Hall. I will try those, but
I’ve sworn Lou to secrecy. No one at the department is to know that Lou and I
are reading a series with a character known as the Puzzle Lady. Who knows how
much guys like George Michaelson and Frank Harris would kid us?