Murder at the Book Fair Page 11

  It didn't take me long to get used to my new ride. Sometimes music helps a person adapt to their new surroundings. I was driving with one hand and drumming on the console or steering wheel to whatever was playing. That was hard to do when they played a slow dance song. I knew Jennifer and I would enjoy the radio together. It didn't feel the same when I turned to Lou while Do You Love Me? was playing as it will when Jennifer is with me and they play the song again. Lou chuckled when I sang it to him. Jennifer will probably blow me kisses and sing along with me. I made a mental note that sometime, when all this mess is over with, Lou and I need to double-date, go for a long drive in the country, and all four of us sing to our hearts content.

  +++

  Lori Wildwood lived closest to the interstate, so I opted for her place first. I took the second Frankfort exit and located her subdivision. I found the house and parked on the street in front of it. It seemed funny stepping down from my ride instead of having to climb up out of it. I didn't want Lightning to know, but the van was easier to get in and out of. I stepped down onto the street like I was hot stuff. I tried to hide my aches and pains from yesterday. I wondered if Lou was envious.

  I walked up and knocked on the door just as a gray minivan pulled into the driveway next door. A woman several years my junior was behind the wheel. Her traveling companions were more children than the number of clowns that could climb out of a small car at the circus or than the old woman who lived in a shoe had given birth to. Well, maybe not that many. Whatever the case, the young woman looked up and saw us as she was getting out.

  "They don't get home from work until about 5:30."

  "Is this where Lori Wildwood lives?"

  "You a fan of hers?"

  "I don't know yet, but I bought one of her books at the Kentucky Book Fair."

  "Well, I've already read it. I can tell you it's good. Her other book is good, too. I asked her how long it would be before her third book comes out."

  "I know she'll appreciate the endorsement. Thanks for the information. We'll catch up with her later."

  "Can I tell her who stopped by?"

  "Yeah. You can say it was one of her future fans wondering when the next book is coming out."

  "But you haven't read the first two yet. What if you don't like them?"

  "Oh, I'll like them. You already said they were good."

  I smiled as we turned away from the door, and the next-door neighbor smiled back. But I was sure that she was wondering who had paid her neighbor a visit. Stalkers don't usually travel in twos. But then cops don't usually travel in minivans. Especially red ones. And authors aren't usually murdered at a book fair. Except in books.

  I turned the Siena around and waved at the next-door neighbor. She seemed torn between getting all the children into the house and wondering who had come to call on her next-door neighbor.

  +++

  I had failed to realize that not all authors make a million dollars a year. And some of them have to work at a job too, to make ends meet. But the book I bought was only Lori Wildwood's second book. Maybe after she has written five books she will be home to answer a stranger's knock if he or she comes calling in the middle of the afternoon.

  I pulled out of the subdivision and God was with me. So was Lou. And so was a Baskin-Robbins, just across the street. The other author I planned to see had written only one book. She was even more likely to be at work until 5:00, or later than Lori Wildwood was. I pointed at the ice cream palace and Lou smiled. We had changed our eating habits, but we do deviate from our new eating patterns on occasion. On this occasion deviate was another word for a three-scoop sundae made with chocolate almond ice cream, topped with whipped cream, a cherry, hot fudge and caramel syrups, and nuts. Lou went for something completely different. Well, slightly different. He chose pralines and cream and cherry cheesecake ice cream and left off the hot fudge syrup. I guess caramel was enough syrup for him, and I think his sundae had only two scoops. He would get hungry before I would.

  Like I said before, God was with us that day. Neither of us dripped anything on our shirts. That meant we wouldn't have to go back to the Capital Plaza before talking to a couple of authors. For some reason people don't think cops with soiled shirts are as competent as ones with clean shirts.

  When we scraped out the last of the ice cream and what came with it I looked at my watch. It was 4:31. I had learned that Jonnetta Jarvis lived on the same end of Frankfort, but down off Louisville Road, so I figured I would drive to her house in case she was home before 5:30. I hoped that it wasn't the day that both of them had plans after work. You never know what night authors go to Pilates. Or Zumba. And hopefully the family didn't meet to eat right after work on Friday night.

  I found Jarvis's subdivision quickly. The houses were a little smaller than the place where Lori Wildwood lived. I wondered if that was because one had written two books and the other one only one.

  I blew out an exasperated breath when I pulled up and found no car in the driveway. While most authors write at home, most of them have some sort of transportation in case they need to go somewhere. My guess was that Jonnetta Jarvis had gone somewhere. Probably work. And she worked more than half a day.

  I turned to Lou.

  "Let's go knock anyway."

  26

  Once again I stepped down from my van. The sun had given way to the kind of gray day we had come to expect for this time of year. I motioned for Lou to join me and the two of us walked up to the front door. I'd just watched The Blues Brothers movie for the first time, and I had invited Lou over to see it, too. I whispered to him to don his sunglasses and we could go into our Jake and Elwood Blues strut. He told me he preferred to strut like Richard Pryor and Gene Wilder in Stir Crazy. We had recently watched that one for the first time, too, so I said, "That's right! That's right! We're bad," as we walked to the house. Luckily no neighbor pulled up to tell us where we could get help. I heard a small dog yip inside the house, so I figured the woman would be home eventually. I doubted that she was hiding behind the blinds fearing that whoever had knocked was either two men from the IRS coming to take all that she had or religious zealots coming to tell her how she could have more. What tipped me off to this was the house had no blinds. But at least I could see the yippy dog jumping up at the window. I refrained from going over to the window and making faces at him. Instead, Lou and I turned away. At least I would have more time to study my Salsa Red Pearl Siena. I wonder who named the color. Maybe it was some retired person who didn't get to Wal-Mart in time to get the greeting job. On our way back to my new ride, Lou and I didn't have as much fun, but we got back to the van quicker since we didn't strut on the return trip.

  He who asks the first question wins, so I opened my mouth first.

  "What do you want to do?"

  "I don't know, but I can't handle another sundae, which means that an early dinner is out, too."

  We sat there a couple of minutes pondering what to do when a small car turned into the driveway. I smiled when a familiar face popped up out of the car.

  "Looks like dinner can wait."

  I popped down out of the van so quickly I had to hold onto the door to keep from falling. I had to get used to my new transportation. At least my stumble was on the side away from the house, so Jonnetta Jarvis didn't see it. Lou didn't, either. He was busy getting out more gracefully on his side. I thought of strutting up to the author, but then I remembered that more people are carrying concealed weapons these days. I didn't want to die so soon after retiring. Instead I tried to walk like a normal person, which is hard to do shortly after being broadsided by a bull.

  The woman had a puzzled look on her face until I emerged from behind my Siena. Then a look of recognition took over.

  "I know you. You bought my book. What's the matter? Didn't like it?"

  "Well, to tell you the truth, I haven't read it yet. But I plan to soon."

  "So, what can I do for you? If you want copies of my book for your friends I can certainly
help you with that."

  "Actually, I'm Lt. Dekker and this is Sgt. Murdock. We're police."

  "So? Some police can read."

  "I'm happy to say that we're in that group, but we're here on another matter."

  "You think one of my characters is too much like you."

  "No. Remember, I haven't read the book yet. I want to ask you some questions about the book fair."

  She went from a concerned look to donning a huge grin.

  "I loved it. It was my first time there. I was nervous, scared I wasn't going to sell any books. That's why I hired a guy to promote them for me. I don't know if it worked or not, but I sold books to people I didn't know. I know I was pleased with how the day went. If I could sell that many books everyday I could cut back to part-time at work."

  "It was our first time there, too. And we had fun while we were there."

  "You mean something bad happened after you left?"

  "You might say that."

  "But that wouldn't have anything to do with the book fair."

  "Well, I'm not sure about that. And I'm not sure if it happened after we left or not. That's what we're trying to find out."

  "You talk in riddles."

  "Maybe I can be more direct."

  "Would you like to come in?"

  "That would be great. I'm sure it's more comfortable than talking out here. But could you get rid of that monster first. I don't want to be eaten alive one small bite at a time."

  Jonnetta Jarvis laughed.

  "Jo Jo won't hurt you, but I'll put him up. I'd better give him a treat first or he'll be yapping the whole time you're here."

  It takes longer to put a dog up and give him a treat than it does to call the sheriff. I know because I was able to hum the Jeopardy theme three times. I didn't think it took any longer to hum it than whistle it and humming is easier for a man in pain.

  Just as I was about to forget about the sundae I had eaten, Jonnetta Jarvis came back to the door.

  "Sorry. Jo Jo was glad to see me. It takes longer to put a dog up when he's jumping up and down on you. Do you have a dog?"

  "No, just Lou. And he lives somewhere else. But he's housebroken."

  She laughed.

  "So is Jo Jo, although I did have a few places to clean up the first few days after I got him."

  I refrained from saying TMI to her and stood there like I wanted to get the show on the road. She took the hint.

  "Please have a seat wherever you like. Would you like something to drink."

  "No thanks," I said as Lou and I took a seat.

  "So, what can I do for you?"

  "Tell us what you can about Cyril Portwood."

  "He sells a lot of books. But then he's written a lot, too. Seventeen, I think he said. I hope some day I can sell as many as he does. I'm working on my second book now, but I know that's not why you're here."

  "What else do you know about him?"

  "Is he is some kind of trouble?"

  "Not the kind you mean."

  "Well, I thought he was a nice guy. Talked a lot. Like I seem to be doing now. Mine's because I'm nervous. I'm not sure why he talked so much."

  "Why are you nervous?"

  "Well, I'm not used to cops knocking on my door and being mysterious."

  "Did you like Portwood?"

  "Well, I only met him the one time. He seemed like a nice enough guy. Has he done something wrong?"

  "No. What about Lori Wildwood?"

  "I met her the night before, at the author's reception. When we found out we would be at the same table we talked some. I found out she had been there last year too, so she told me a little about what to expect. And it was even more fun than what Lori said."

  "Did Portwood give you any money?"

  She laughed.

  "Are you serious?"

  "I am."

  "No. Why should he? I just met him on Saturday."

  "Do you know if he gave money to anyone else, maybe Lori Wildwood, or Jake Cartwright? Maybe to the tune of $50,000 a year?"

  "Now I know you're joking. But if someone did give me $50,000 a year I'd quit work and write full time and hope that I became self-supporting as an author before the money ran out."

  "Why would you think the money would run out?"

  "Well, in the case of Mr. Portwood, if he is giving someone $50,000 a year someday that will end unless that person is mentioned in his will."

  "Maybe he told the person he was cutting them off, without a penny?"

  "Well, then that sounds like a motive for murder. It should be easy enough for you to find out. Check the bank and see who has more money than they should. Or ask Portwood."

  "He's not talking. What if the money isn't in a bank? Maybe it's in an offshore account."

  "You still should be able to tell who's living beyond his or her means. Obviously it's not me."

  "Maybe whoever it is is still working, maybe will work a few more years until all of this blows over."

  "Then it might be hard for you to find out who has it."

  "And you don't have any idea whom that may be?"

  "I think you'll have to ask him about that, or ask those other two authors you mentioned. I didn't see him give any money to anyone."

  "Did you see anyone touch his food at any time that day?"

  "Boy, you ask strange questions. One couple came along, acted like they were going to do something to his food, but I don't think either of them did. I figured they knew him and were just kidding around. However, he wasn't at the table when they came. He had just left. I don't know why I remember that, but for some reason I do."

  "Did Portwood seem sick or sleepy at any time that day?"

  "You keep asking these strange questions about him. Did someone murder him or something?"

  "Why did you ask that?"

  "Well, I write murder mysteries, and you are beating around the bush for some reason. Is he dead?"

  "I'm afraid he is. And someone murdered him."

  "You're kidding! No, I can tell you're not kidding. Well, he was fine when I left, when it was over. I think I left before he did. He was still talking to the Cartwright guy when I walked up to check out."

  "I don't know if he was fine when you left or not, but I'm not accusing you of murdering him."

  "Well, good! Because I didn't follow him when he left."

  "I'm not sure anyone else did, either. Can you think of anything that might have happened that day that seemed a little out of place?"

  "No, but I was on cloud nine just being there. It's been my dream all my life to be an author. I'm hoping that some day I can sell enough books to support myself from my writing. See, I'm not married, and I have to live off what I make from my job, and my books, little as it is."

  "Well, I promise to read your book, and if I like it I will tell others about it. I doubt if I will tell enough people so that you can sell enough books to quit work, but every little bit helps. And if I run into some guy who wants to marry an up-and-coming author I'll be sure to tell him about you."

  She laughed again.

  "Now, back to what you said before you tried to be a matchmaker. That's one reason I paid Dan Grimes $100 to advertise my books. I don't know if it helped or not, but I sold well over $100 worth."

  "Who's Dan Grimes?"

  "A book promoter."

  "Was he there that day?"

  "If he was, I didn't see him. But I assume that whatever he did helped me sell more books."

  "Congratulations! You're on your way."

  "Is there anything else you need. I need to start working on dinner. and I left Jo Jo in the bedroom. He'll be scratching at the door for me to let him back in here before long."

  "No, that will be it for now. I'll check back if I have any more questions."

  "I notice that he hasn't said anything. Which one of you is the good cop and which one is the bad cop?"

  "Oh, I'm definitely the good cop. He eats all the donuts before I can get to them."

  Lou l
ifted his hand in a "what can I say" gesture. We left before Jonetta Jarvis could ask if Lou can talk.

  27

  As soon as we pulled off Lou started grinning.

  "That's right! That's right! We're bad," I said.

  "Cy, this is one time I agree with you. Well, maybe not in the same way you mean it. And you're the one who's bad."

  "So, what do you think? She was quick to pick up on murder. And I don't think I hinted at it."

  "But I would think out of everyone we've talked to so far, she seems to have the least motive."

  "You're probably right. So what routine do you want to use at Lori Wildwood's house? She might be home by now."