Murder at the Book Fair Read online

  "So, Jake Cartwright, sign four of yours for me, too. And four for him, too. My name's Cy, and his is Lou."

  "And what about me?"

  "Colonel, he's getting the same as I get."

  With that Colonel Portwood smiled and reached out and shook Lou's hand.

  After picking up the books we bought from Portwood and Cartwright we went back to Portwood's table, which he was sharing with two other mystery authors. We had never heard of Lori Wildwood, and Jonnetta Jarvis, but both of them wrote mysteries, so we chose a book by each of them. By then I was twelve steps short of a hernia, so we dragged our books to the checkout, where we were prepared to leave a nice chunk of change.

  We found a place nearby to eat lunch, then headed for home. All the way home Lou and I talked about how happy we were that Mrs. E. told us about the Kentucky Book Fair and how we needed to make it to this annual event every year.

  It was nice not to have to drive home. I got to enjoy the beautiful Kentucky countryside without running off the road. Lou didn't get to enjoy as much of the countryside, but at least he didn't run off the road.

  6

  I picked up Lou for church on Sunday morning. As I drove we both talked again about how much fun we had at the Book Fair and that we needed to put it on our calendar for next year. When we got home both of us skimmed through each of the books we had purchased and were happy with our selections.

  For a while Lou and I had gotten away from eating éclairs in the fellowship hall before the service, but since we retired we had slipped back into our old ways. Sort of. Both of us ate only one, instead of our previous two or three each Sunday, so every Sunday we had to decide whether to pluck one that would get chocolate all over our hands and relish the custard filling as it soothed our tongue, or pick up one covered with sticky pecans and with chocolate mousse inside. Church was the only place we had found ones like that. It was only our discipline that kept us from eating both. Why did God have to give someone a recipe for two types of éclairs?

  +++

  After the two of us retired we started lingering after the service and talking to a few people before heading somewhere to eat lunch. On the ride to lunch and while we ate we hashed over the sermon and how it applied to the two of us.

  +++

  I could tell something was on Lou's mind, but he waited until after church and lunch to share it with me.

  "Cy, do you know something I don't know?"

  I couldn't believe Lou gave me an opening like that. I wondered where he was going with this.

  "How long do you have, Lou?"

  "Hopefully at least forty more years. My check-ups have always been pretty good. And better than yours. Although I must say you're catching up. You're looking less like a bloated cadaver these days."

  "I meant how long do you have for me to tell you everything I know that you don't. And I'm not going to fall for that, because then you will know everything I know. So, why did you ask the question?"

  "I got a message, Cy."

  "Aren't you the one who says we're retired?"

  "I am."

  "And aren't you the one who tells me that Dan and Heather will handle any murders in Hilldale now?"

  "I'm figuring this murder happened somewhere other than Hilldale and we will be called in to solve it."

  "Lou, now that Jennifer's moved here, we don't know anyone outside of Hilldale."

  "Remember that police chief who almost arrested you in Gatlinburg?"

  "I didn't almost get arrested in Gatlinburg. So you think we'll get a call from the guy down there asking us to help him solve a murder?"

  "Not in this lifetime."

  "Then why are you sharing this?"

  "I assume by that you mean that no one has contacted you yet."

  "Just you, and you haven't made any sense."

  "I'm just letting you know you might want to go ahead and take your nap when you get home, so you can be well rested when someone contacts you."

  "Maybe you should tell me what the message is that God gave you, so I can dream about it while I'm napping, and I can have a solution for whoever it is who is going to contact me."

  "This book is closed."

  "This book is closed."

  "Very good, Cy. I'll give you an A in listening."

  "That was your message?"

  "Maybe I won't give you an A after all. My first sentence should have prepared you for the message I was I was going to give you."

  "If that's the message maybe it means that someone finished reading. I also close my books when I'm not reading them. Or it could be that Dan and Heather were able to solve a case without consulting us. What do you think?"

  "I already told you. I think you need to take your nap as soon as you get home. And I'll be waiting by my phone for your call."

  "Shouldn't you take a nap, too? You seem a little irritated today."

  +++

  Hilldale is no different than any other town. There is an unwritten ordinance that dictates that all residents must take a Sunday afternoon nap after returning from church and overeating, whether that overeating takes place at home or in a restaurant. It was just after I got up from my nap that the phone rang. I figured it was either Lou or Jennifer, since no one else ever calls me, so it didn't matter how I answered it. Maybe Lou was afraid I was trying to solve a murder I didn't need to butt in on.

  "You miss me already?"

  "Well, Cy, it has been a few years, so I'm not sure about already. But yeah, I miss you, you messed up bag of bones."

  "Who is this?"

  "You mean you don't recognize your old high school buddy?"

  "Is this Herb Wainscott?"

  "Not bad, especially since it's been eight or ten years. I understand that you and Lou retired."

  "Yeah, and this place is falling apart. There hasn't been a murder since we retired."

  "Well, maybe I can help you out. That's why I called."

  "You giving me an idea on how to murder someone?"

  "No, I'm asking for your help in finding out if a suspicious death in my neck of the woods was murder or not."

  "You mean you quit working, too?"

  "No, I'm still the main guy down here, so to speak. Have you by any chance heard of a guy by the name of Cyril Portwood? Calls himself the Colonel."

  "Not until the other day. Lou and I bought some of his books at the Kentucky Book Fair."

  "Well, they might be worth more now. Cyril won't be writing any more."

  "You mean someone got so disgusted with his writing that they murdered him?"

  "Not according to our coroner. Doc Watts is seventy-two and should have retired a long time ago, but nobody will run against him. He says that Portwood drove into his garage and fell asleep before he cut the car off. That could have been the case, but I want to make sure. Doc looked at the body for a minute tops, said he died of carbon monoxide poisoning, and said the case was closed. But in my mind there are some loose ends. One, Portwood was worth millions. I know that millionaires usually die of natural causes, but I'm not sure about this millionaire. Those millions will be going somewhere, and I don't think I'm going to be the recipient. Two, his girlfriend, Millie Longacre, who lives next door to him, said she found him this morning. The only problem is that the car didn't run out of gas. Someone turned off the ignition. We think that she found him last night, only she didn't call us until around noon today. Plus she told us he said he would be seeing someone this past week who scared him. And I don't know if that's true or if she was trying to cast suspicion in another direction. And he didn't get along with his brother and sister, who live in Frankfort, and who didn't share in the inheritance he got from his mother, who was the source of his wealth. You got anybody up there who's willing to do a thorough autopsy. Portwood's will allowed for whatever was needed for a funeral and burial, and in my mind that means an autopsy, if one is needed. I need someone to perform one to ease my mind no matter what Doc Watts says."

  "You know Frank Harris, our me
dical examiner?"

  "Yeah. He's a good man. He's a few years younger than we are, and a whole lot younger than Doc Watts. I saw him from time to time when he was a kid and we were teenagers, and I ran into him once when I came back to visit. I know he didn't want my job and I didn't want his."

  "And I never wanted his, either. And like I said, things are slow around here. I think I can yank his chain and get him to help you out, you being a local and all. Even though you did have to go away to find a job."

  "I guess I just had higher standards."

  "Whatever! Listen, I'll check with Frank. How do we get the body if he says 'yes'?"

  "How does UPS sound?"

  "If it's not Next Day Air I'd say he'll smell a good deal by the time he gets here. But the body wouldn't be coming to me, so that's okay."

  "Call me if Frank will do it. I'll have somebody drive it up tomorrow morning. And Portwood had a suit coat in the passenger seat, and luggage in the back. And there was a journal under the front seat. If he was meeting someone he was afraid of, maybe he mentioned this person in there. And maybe that's the reason he hid the journal under the seat. Of course he never locked his car. He always said if someone wanted something bad enough they will break a window to get it. And he never kept anything of value in his car. At any rate, I'll send the journal and his luggage, in case there's a clue in there somewhere."

  "So, you want me to look into this, too?"

  "If the autopsy turns up anything suspicious."

  "I'll try to work it in. Lou and I have a golf date tomorrow and a cornhole tournament on Tuesday. Plus we're both working on a murder during our spare time. We hope to solve it before Agatha Christie reveals it."

  "You retired guys have it rough."

  "I want to get around while I can still get around unassisted. We even work in a vacation when we can. I'll call you back after I talk to Frank."

  "Thanks, Cy, and I'm sorry to spoil your new lifestyle."

  7

  "Hello Frank."

  "Cy, it's so nice to talk to you when you don't have a body for me. It's amazing how peaceful this town has gotten since you retired."

  "Yeah, I've heard you haven't been doing much work."

  "And I like it that way. Peaceful."

  "What can I say? Potential murderers like a challenge. They don't feel they have one now that Lou and I are retired."

  "I'll be sure and tell Dan and Heather that. So, why are you calling me, other than to give me indigestion?"

  "That's the only reason I called. Just to give you indigestion."

  "But the only way you can do that is by making me go out and pick up a body. You can't do that anymore."

  "You're right, Frank. And this body will be delivered to you."

  "What are you talking about?"

  I explained to him about Herb Wainscott's phone call. And told him he would be paid for his time. He offered to do it for free, but I told him there was enough money allocated for the autopsy that he could name his own price. He said he would only do that if I were paying.

  +++

  "So, they called?"

  "Who called, Lou?"

  "Whoever it was who was reporting a murder."

  "Okay, someone called."

  "Who was it?"

  "Herb Wainscott."

  "The guy we went to school with?"

  "One and the same."

  "I thought he was a sheriff or something in western Kentucky somewhere."

  "Actually, he's in Oldham County, which is somewhere up on the Ohio River."

  "Why did he call you? Has someone threatened him?"

  "No. He has a possible murder, which you and I know is definitely a murder, since God has already given you your message."

  "So, why did he call you?"

  "Because the coroner down there said it wasn't murder and Herb wants to make sure."

  "You didn't tell him we already knew, did you?"

  "No, Lou. Not everyone understands your gift."

  "So, who got murdered?"

  "Cyril Portwood."

  "I mean really. Not in some book. Besides, he's the one who writes the murders, not the victim."

  "This time he was the victim."

  "No way! Cyril Portwood? The author we met at the book fair?"

  "One and the same, and now his book is closed."

  "So, do you think it was the author at the next table?"

  "I don't know. I haven't interrogated all of the suspects yet."

  "So, why did Herb call us. Shouldn't he have called Frank?"

  "I guess he should have called Frank. But I called Frank instead. And you and I won't be called in until after Frank does the autopsy. And the body won't get here until tomorrow. So, we're retired for a couple more days."

  "So dust those cobwebs off your brain so we can get back to retired soon. I'm sure you told him we'd help him out."

  "Of course."

  "So, where are the suspects?"

  "I don't know yet. I don't even know where he was murdered. Maybe it was at the book fair after you and I left his table. Maybe we left too soon. No, from what I could gather from Herb when he got back home he pulled into his garage and died. We'll find out after we get Frank's autopsy report. So, go back to your book and I'll pick up mine. We'll solve a murder as practice."

  +++

  With my phone calls done, I walked over to where I had set the books I bought at the book fair. I rummaged through the stack until I found one of Cyril Portwood's books. I glanced at it, then turned and read his profile. According to it, Cyril Portwood lived out in the country near Westport, Kentucky. I had no idea where Westport was so I headed to my computer to consult GoogleMaps. Westport was west of me, but east of Louisville, on the Ohio River. If things went the way I was expecting them to go, then Lou and I would soon discover a part of Kentucky that we haven't visited. If we come out of retirement enough, maybe someday we will have visited all one hundred and twenty of Kentucky's counties.

  +++

  Col. Portwood's body rolled in late Monday morning without fanfare. Frank called me to let me know and promised me that he was getting ready to get on it and he should be able to tell me something that night.

  "And Cy, there's a journal here. Do you know anything about that?"

  "Yeah, I'm supposed to read it. I'll drive over in a few minutes and pick it up. Leave it somewhere that smells better than the place you'll be."

  "So, that means you don't want me to deliver it to you?"

  'No, just get my body done."

  "Cy, I don't plan to do anything to your body, but I do agree that you are a piece of work."

  "I've adjusted to being smarter and better looking than the other guys, so I'm used to running into you jealous types."

  "Cy, remind me to get you a mirror for Christmas and to pay for an examination by a neurologist."

  8

  I picked up the journal from Frank, and headed back home. I was sure that Portwood had been murdered, so I wasn't going to wait for Frank's call to start reading it. I walked into the house and over to the recliner, Portwood's journal in my hand. I plopped down to read it. It didn't take long. It wasn't long enough to be a novel. I wasn't sure if it was long enough to be a short story. The whole thing consisted of four days. The first entry was on Tuesday, the day Portwood left for the book fair. The last entry was on Friday, although it talked about what would happen on Saturday. There was nothing in there that pointed a finger at anyone. Nothing that said he feared for his life. Maybe he was afraid of someone he had planned to see last week, or maybe Millie Longacre was mistaken or lying. Or maybe I was missing something, like missing pages in a journal. But then no pages appeared to have been torn out.

  I called Lou, told him I would drop off the journal in a few minutes and told him it wasn't long enough to bore him. It was a warm day considering it was November, so when I got back from Lou's I trotted out back and practiced pitching cornhole bags.

  A few minutes later I heard my house phone
ring and rushed in to take Lou's call. Even though we both received cell phones as part of our retirement gifts, we still rely on our house phone to call each other. Some habits are hard to break.

  "Finished already?"

  "Yeah. The janitor did it."

  "There wasn't a janitor mentioned."

  "You had to read between the lines to find out about him."

  "You ready to solve this thing?"

  "You aren't going to wait on Frank to tell us there has been a murder?"

  "Do you have any doubts?"

  "No."

  "Then are you ready to solve this thing?"

  "If I say 'no', does that mean you'll go alone?"

  "No, I'll call Heather."

  "What about Jennifer?"

  "Jennifer doesn't have any experience solving murders."

  "Neither does Heather. There hasn't been a murder in Hilldale since she and Dan took over."

  "Maybe they're not looking in the right places for the bodies. Now, are you ready to head to Frankfort tomorrow?"

  "I guess so. I'll have to find someone to feed my cat."

  "You'll have to get a cat first."

  "They're too much trouble. Maybe I'll get a dog first and find someone to walk my dog."

  "You work on that when we get back. You up to packing a bag?"

  "Why? Are we going back to Gatlinburg after we solve the murder?"

  "No, I don't know how long it will take us in Frankfort, and how many people we need to talk to there. There's Portwood's lawyer, and Portwood's brother and sister. And since there was a good chance he was murdered at the book fair, I want to talk to people who were there. Those in charge and other authors. So we might stay there and talk to all those people and then head on to that place Portwood is from. You know it's well over two hours from here, don't you?"

  "Most places are more than two hours from here. And it's going to take more than a few hours if we talk to all two hundred authors. See you tomorrow, and you're driving this time."