Will You Marry Me? (Sam Darling Mystery Book 4) (14 page)

"I don't remember where my hands touched and want to be safe."

I'd had enough of thinking about Bob Bob and once again turned to Chip.

"So, do you have any ideas about who might have hit you over the head?" I asked Chip.

"As I said before, I didn't see or hear a thing. One minute I was standing there, and the next I was lying on the floor talking to you while I was coming out of a fog. I wish I knew. I didn't think I had any enemies."

"Anything strange come to mind?" I continued asking, even though I didn't expect him to give me any help.

"Nope."

"What about a while before? The time leading up to the attack?"

"Nope," he said again. "Bob Bob, who I thought was Jim Bob, made a phone call. He stepped out of the hallway to talk--into the room where he was found. But that wasn't weird or anything. He talked for just a minute, then came back out. We were just jawin'; you know how people do. He asked me to watch the place while he went to the bathroom. That's really all I remember."

"Well, that's more than I knew a few minutes ago," I said with a smile on my face.

"Why are you asking me questions?"

"Oh, I guess you didn't know. I'm a deputy now." My smile widened. I was almost desperate to show George that I could do this and be a successful cop. This was my moment, when both Jeremiah and George were a bit incapacitated.

I wondered what would happen next...but I didn't have to wonder for long.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

When Bob Bob was finished slathering the pink stuff on himself, I thought it would be safe to look at him. I chanced a glance his way and he was fairly well covered, so I asked him again, "Tell me what happened."

"I can't rightly remember everything that happened. There you were when I woke up."

"Yeah," I said, "but you said a little more when I asked you earlier."

"I don't remember," he said. "I was groggy."

"Groggy, yeah," I said to myself. Then I asked, "How are you now?"

"Pretty good. I have a headache, but nothing major. The poison ivy is worse."

Just when I thought I might have a productive conversation with him, three people entered--two of whom I was happy to see. George and Jeremiah walked in at about the same time, just as the door opened admitting Bob Bob's doppelganger, commonly known as Jim Bob.

Before anyone else could speak, Marianne stepped to her new husband's side. "How are you?" she asked.

"Better," answered Jeremiah. "The shower helped."

Wilma gave a bottle of calamine lotion and a stack of cotton balls to both George and Jeremiah, and advised them to get busy. I helped George and Marianne helped Jeremiah. Clancy stayed in between Chip and Bob Bob, although I didn't know why.

"Are you okay?" Jim Bob said to his twin, approaching the bed. Clancy stood at attention, which told me a lot.

"Yeah, but I..." Bob Bob didn't get to finish his sentence because Jim Bob kept talking.

"Chip, you okay?"

Chip nodded.

"What about you two?" Jim Bob asked Jeremiah and George.

They just nodded too. I wondered what had Jim Bob operating on fast forward. That was territory I was used to, but hadn't noticed anyone else in town with ADHD.

"You seem anxious, Jim Bob," I said, going into full-blown social worker mode.

"Me, anxious? Don't be silly. I was just worried about my brother. Everybody wanted to come and visit him, but I wouldn't let them. Said I was going to be the spokesperson. So I guess if I seem anxious it's because I love my brother. Anything wrong with that?"
 

He stared at me, but I said nothing.
 

"I didn't think so," he said.
 

Before he could continue talking, Luigi strolled in. HIs gorgeousness filled the room. Everyone seemed mesmerized by it. Even George.
 

"Hello, everyone." Finally he spoke, and I found myself enthralled with the semi-Italian accent. But then something hit me.

"Hey, Luigi. Where were you born?"
 

"Ummm." He hesitated before he spoke. With a haunted look toward Wilma, he said, "I was born in Hannibal, Missouri."

"Where Samuel Clemens lived? That was Mark Twain's real name, you know." Omigod, when would I stop?
 
"Oops. Sorry. That had nothing to do with anything." I couldn't shut up though. "Hannibal is just across the Mississippi River from Quincy and certainly isn't located near Italy."

The look Luigi then gave me bordered on scary.

"So, what's with the phony Italian accent?" I asked. But before he could answer, I added, "I'm really sorry." I then asked the question in a much more appropriate way. "How did you come by the Italian accent?"

"My parents were from Italy, and my grandparents lived with us. They spoke no English and my parents spoke English with a heavy accent. Italian was the first language I knew. Does that satisfy you?"

I nodded, and noticed he wasn't quite as handsome when he was angry. In fact he was rather frightening.

Not one to be daunted, I quickly broke my resolve to stop blurting things out and continued with, "By the way, where have you been? It seems most of the time we're together as a group, you aren't there."

As he started to speak, something grabbed my attention. I stepped toward him and noticed him cowering. He wasn't quite as fearsome as I'd thought. When I got close enough I touched his hair.

"Sam," George said with a warning tone.

"It's okay," I responded, as I pulled a small yellow feather out of Luigi's hair.

Wilma gasped. "You're a chicken?" The disbelief was evident in her voice. "A chicken?"

"It's not like you found out I'm a criminal. It's just a convention. Once a year. I wasn't even coming this year, until you called me about the bones. So it's not an obsession, I promise."

"Yeah, but it's a sexual fetish," she said. "It's just weird. That's all, weird."

"I don't have to do it," Luigi almost pleaded. "I can quit anytime. And I didn't have sex with anyone. I'll never attend again. I promise."

So I'd been right about the smoldering looks he had been sending Wilma. I wondered if there was anything more to it than desire. It certainly seemed so.

Wilma said, "It's not like we're a couple or anything. I just thought..."

"I thought so too," I said.

Luigi gave me his scary look again, which I promptly ignored.

"Just give me a chance to talk to you alone." His look once again changed from frightening to pleading.

Wilma nodded. "We definitely need to talk. As soon as I'm finished here, we can go into my office."

"I'm glad that's settled," I said. "Now, let's get busy solving the crimes." I know I must have rubbed my hands together and grinned like an extremely evil villain in a convoluted drama.

Jeremiah stepped in. "Just because I've been quiet doesn't mean I haven't been working. George and I can handle this investigation."

"Yeah, but..."

"But what?" George asked. I noticed that he and Jeremiah were using more of the pink medicine while we were talking.

I looked at Jeremiah. "But you just got married and you have poison ivy. Don't you think I ought to take the lead on this?"

"NO!" he and George said in unison.

"But..." I sputtered.

"No," came the same answer from the same people.

"Okay," I knew when I was defeated. "But I'm going to help."

Before they could say no, the phone rang. Wilma answered it and her end of the conversation was, "Hello." "Yes." "Really?" "That's interesting."
 
"Okay. Thanks. Yes, please. Send them back." "Thanks again."

She turned around and delivered the news to all of us. "That was the crime lab in Jeff City. Sam was right. Missy Hen was killed with the shears and buried with the shovel. Must have been fast, since the grave is so shallow."
 

But why there? Why bury someone right in front of the gas station? Who did it? What I said out loud was, "I got vibes around the weapons but not around the people." I looked at Luigi and Jim Bob. "Well, maybe a few vibes around a few people."

Just as I said it, Barclay walked in. I didn't like the officious federal employee, but the feelings I got around him were just distaste and dislike. I got no sense of "he's guilty" when I was around him.

Before I could ask him to explain why he was still hanging around, Wilma spoke up, ignoring Barclay's entrance. "So, Jeremiah, we do have a murder."

"I knew that," I said.

"And it was done with something like shears, maybe the shears from Marianne's shed."

"I knew that too." Oh, God, even I could tell that I was a pain in the butt.

George said, "I'll talk to Marianne myself, sheriff. Just to do it by the book. We don't want to have any inkling of impropriety if this ever goes to trial."

"Thank you." Jeremiah's head was bowed as he said it.

I chimed in, of course. "I can't even imagine how hard this must be, knowing the murder weapon came from your bride's home. I just want you to know that no one here believes she had anything to do with it." I placed my hand on his shoulder as I spoke.

He gaze moved from the ground to my eyes. "Thanks."

Finally, I'd said the right thing to someone.

Jeremiah then cleared his throat and got back in gear. "Okay, George, you'll interview Marianne. No hurry on that. I think we ought to interview the chickens first. While Wilma was talking, I got a text from Judge Corcoran. Even though he's retired he was able to pull some strings and got a circuit court judge to issue a warrant. We can interview all the chickens without their outfits on whether they like it or not." He turned to me. "Sam, we'll need your help with this too."

Yes!
 

I did resist raising my arms in a victory sign, but surely did it in my head. This would give me the opportunity to see if I got any vibes from any of the chicken enthusiasts. Maybe, I figured, the chicken suits blocked my ability to sense someone's villainy. I had visions of a sudden "Aha!" bursting forth from my mouth when someone entered the room.

"We'll use the rooms down by the bloody carpet. That will also give us an opportunity to watch their behaviors in the hallway. Sam, bring Clancy too. She might be able to help," Jeremiah said.

I couldn't help it. I beamed. When I looked down at Clancy, who had somehow reappeared at my side, I realized that I'd been neglecting her more than I ever had in our life together. "Sorry, girl," I whispered. "I've gotten so tied up in my new life that I've been neglecting you."

She understood. She always did. Clancy came over and gave me nudge with her nose.

Jeremiah addressed the room. "Jim Bob and Luigi, since you're both chickenmen, you'll have to come with us. Chip, since you were a chickenman last year and still had the costume, I'll need you to be interviewed as well. Bob Bob, you were in one today; have you ever been in a chicken suit before?"

Bob Bob sat up in bed, all pink and splotchy, and answered, "Once. Last Halloween."

His answer broke the tension, and we laughed. But the sheriff said, "I'm afraid that's enough to make us question you too. We don't have an exact date when Ms. Hen was murdered; it could have been Halloween."

Out of everyone in the room who wasn't a police officer--or an official deputy, like me--Wilma was the only one who didn't have to be interviewed. I figured she couldn't have faked her aversion to the chicken fetish. Or could she?

"Wilma," I said, walking slowly toward her. "Have you ever been a chicken?" I never thought I could ask that question and be completely serious.

"No...uh, yes...once." She stammered, out of nervousness or fear of being found out, I didn't know. I'd never heard Wilma sound flustered.

"Tell us about it," I continued.

"It wasn't a choice I made. I mean, who would want to be a chicken?" A few people raised their hands. "Well, I didn't want to be one. But my brother, Johnny, joined the group as soon as he turned eighteen, last year--you have to be at least that old, so that it's legal, I guess. Anyway, because he's so shy, I thought that maybe he imagined he could be out in public without anxiety if he were in a costume. I wanted to check up on him, so I borrowed a suit from someone I knew." She glanced at Chip, thus identifying him as the guy who let her use his chicken suit. "And I went to the convention."

"What happened?" I asked.

"Not much. I couldn't tell which one was Johnny once I got in there. And I couldn't speak words to ask anyone. If they'd found out I wasn't a real member, they would have kicked me out and Chip would have been in trouble for letting me use his suit. I thought maybe it would reflect badly on Johnny too."

"Interesting."

"What do you mean by that?" Her dark eyes flashed a warning sign to me that I'd better back off.

"Nothing. Just commenting."

"I'm sorry," she said. "I guess I'm overprotective of Johnny. Ever since we were little I've been taking care of him. And not always successfully. He was abused by our caretakers after our parents died. Since I was young myself and couldn't do anything to stop it, I try to do everything I can to make sure he's okay now."

"Since we're here, can we meet him?" I really wanted to meet this brother.

"I doubt that he'll be willing, but I can ask." She moved to walk up the stairs, but before she put her foot on the bottom step, I saw a pair of feet and then legs descend.

"I heard what everyone said, so I thought I'd save you the trouble of coming upstairs to get me." With that, he finished the descent and the brother came into view.
 

Johnny was a several years younger version of Wilma. Slender, brown skin, jet black hair. And handsome. But his anxiety seemed to overshadow his handsomeness. I noticed that the closer he got to us, the more his skin began to pale. He also started shaking and seemed to be holding on to the banister to steady himself. Clancy approached the young man and seemed to be coaxing him down the stairs with her gentle presence.

"Hello," he said, his voice quivering. "I'm Johnny Broadwater. You'll probably want to interview me too." He put his hand on Clancy's head as he descended the last few stairs.