Murder at the Book Fair Page 9

"So, you already know about Miss Longacre?"

  "A little. What can you tell me about her?"

  "She's okay. I think she was more interested in the Colonel than he was in her, but they did spend a lot of time together. They had done that for a long time."

  "So, they got along okay?"

  "As far as I know. Some people said they were fixing to get married. Not sure about that. The Colonel didn't seem like the marrying kind. But he liked her okay."

  "You didn't answer my question about company."

  "Most of the time if somebody drives down this road, they're lost. I don't remember anybody being there lately. Is that what you mean?"

  "It is. Anybody ever come by boat?"

  "Not that I know of."

  "Would you have heard them if they had?"

  "I doubt it. It would have to be a noisy boat, or a noisy person. And the wind would have to be blowing the right way."

  "What about Miss Longacre? How often did she go over to see Portwood?"

  "Pretty near every day as far as I know. And he'd go over and see her from time to time. Sometimes they ate together."

  "Did you hear Portwood come home Saturday night?"

  "Yep. Didn't think nothing about it. He came home and drove into his garage. At least I assume it was him. It was dark time he got home, so all I saw were headlights. But since no one else came down the road that night and he was found dead in his garage the next morning, my guess is it was him. Never suspected that he drove in there and died."

  "Did Miss Longacre go over there Saturday night?"

  "I thought I saw her running across the yard going back home from his house, but she said she never went over until she found him on Sunday morning."

  "What about you? Did you go over?"

  "Not until the sheriff showed up. I walked over to see what was going on."

  "When was the last time you saw him before he died?"

  "I think it was Tuesday or Wednesday. I saw Miss Longacre out at the mailbox. Oh, the mailman came by everyday. If you want to call him a visitor, but he never came up and knocked. Well, he came every day any of us got mail, which wasn't everyday. None of the three of us get much mail. And there's only a half dozen houses on this whole road, and most of us who live here are getting up in age. Anyway, I saw Miss Longacre at her mailbox and she said the Colonel was sick. He was supposed to leave for that book fair on Tuesday, like he always did, but he didn't leave until early Thursday morning. Anyway, I went over one day and asked if I could do anything for him, but he said he would be fine in a day or so. I never saw him again after that."

  "Was he able to pay his bills on time?"

  "I didn't mess with anything that wasn't my business, but I'm sure he could. Some people said he was doing okay, as if maybe he had more money than he let on."

  "Did he ever give you any of it?"

  "He'd buy me a little something for Christmas, but he never gave me any money. I'm doing okay too, got everything I need, so I never had to ask anybody for help."

  "What about Miss Longacre? Did he give her any money?"

  "You'd have to ask her about that. Again, what the two of them did wasn't none of my business."

  "Did he ever say anything about something bothering him, or do you know if he had any enemies?"

  "As far as I know, the answer to both questions is no. How did he die, anyway? Or are you allowed to tell me?"

  "I'll keep that a secret for a while longer. Anything else you know that might help me?"

  "I don't think I've told you anything to start with. It wasn't like I was with whoever it was that killed him. But I can tell you this. Whoever it was must have sneaked up from the river, because I'm sure nobody else drove down this road that night. And I never heard anything like a gunshot. But then the coroner said it was accidental, and he didn't say anything about a gunshot. From what I heard, the coroner thinks he pulled in his garage and went to sleep before he cut his car off."

  "Oh, one other thing. It doesn't have anything to do with this, but I was wondering if you have a map."

  "A map."

  "Yeah, you know. An old-fashioned folded piece of paper with drawings of roads on it."

  "Yeah, I still have one. It's in my truck."

  "Would you mind getting it for me?"

  "That's okay. Help yourself."

  "You mean it's not locked."

  "It's been so long since another human being has been out here and none of us lock our vehicles. And it's become a habit. I even forget to lock mine when I go to town."

  "Okay. I just wanted to make sure to take the best road back to Frankfort."

  "Here. Let's get the map and I'll show you the best way."

  21

  I thanked Barney for his time and Lou and I kicked up a little dust as we crossed the road and walked one house to the right until I came to Millie Longacre's house. I didn't see her watching me. So, I knocked and we waited close to a minute until she came to the door.

  "I heard a car, but that was a few minutes ago. Who in the world are you?"

  She looked past Lou and me at her driveway.

  "Where's your car?"

  "It's next door."

  "No one lives over there anymore."

  "I know. That's why I'm here."

  "I don't know if it's for sale or not, but I doubt if you'd like it out here."

  "Oh, I don't know. It looks quiet and peaceful."

  "That's why I don't think you'd like it. That is unless you're used to a quiet place."

  "So, are you the owner? Or the real estate agent?"

  "Of the house next door. No, that would have been Cyril Portwood, but he died the other day. I don't know who'll get the place now."

  "Do you think he might have left it to you?"

  "Now why would he have done that?"

  "I understand you two were very close."

  "Who told you that, and who are you anyway? Don't go causing any trouble. I've got a gun right here on this table."

  "I won't cause you any trouble unless you deserve it."

  "Well, I haven't caused anyone any trouble. And you still haven't told me who you are."

  "I'm Lt. Dekker and this is Sgt. Murdock. We're looking into the mysterious death of Cyril Portwood."

  "M-m-mysterious death. He died in his car. Carbon monoxide."

  "Oh, are you the coroner down here?"

  "No, but that's what his findings were."

  "And our findings were different. Our findings said he was murdered."

  "M-m-murdered. How?"

  "I understand you went over and found him Saturday night, not long after he got back."

  "That's, uh, I mean that's not right. I found him Sunday morning, not Saturday night."

  "Now, Miss Longacre, you can tell me the truth. We know you found him Saturday night."

  "I didn't. I found him Sunday morning."

  "So, who cut his car off. It didn't run out of gas."

  "I guess it must have been Bob Barney. I saw him out in his yard Saturday night. I think he'd just come back from Cyril's or was on his way over there."

  "He told me about that. Said he saw you returning from Portwood's house."

  "Then he's lying. Or at least mistaken. Besides, I didn't kill Cyril. We were going to be married."

  "I heard he called the wedding off."

  "Oh, he got mad one day, but he always got over it quick. We were going to get married soon."

  "Had you set a date?"

  "We were planning to do that at Christmas."

  "Miss Longacre, I'm not saying you killed him, but you must have been the one who cut the car off."

  "It must have been Barney."

  "It would make more sense if it was you. Didn't you hear him come home Saturday night?"

  "I guess I did. He usually called me when he came home from the book fair, and sometimes he would come over and tell me all about it, but I figured he was still mad, or maybe too tired to talk. That's the reason I didn't go over there."

>   "You sure you didn't go over and find him dead?"

  She started crying and didn't answer my question. I gave her a moment to compose herself.

  "How well off was Portwood?"

  "How would I know?"

  "Well, you said you were going to marry him."

  "Well, I don't know exactly, but he had a right smart amount of money. How much exactly I don't know."

  "Is that why he gave you $50,000 every year?"

  "I don't know what you're talking about. He gave me money from time to time, but nothing like $50,000."

  "What about $50,000 a little at a time, spread out over a year?"

  "I don't know where you got your information, but he never gave me more than a few hundred dollars at a time, and not more than two or three thousand dollars over the course of a year. If he gave anyone that kind of money, it wasn't me."

  "What about some other woman?"

  "There was no other woman. It was just me and him. And if he gave anyone else any money he didn't tell me about it."

  "What about his brother and sister?"

  "Ha! That's a laugh. He wouldn't give them a dime if he didn't have to."

  "Were they ever here?"

  "Never. He didn't even tell them where he lived."

  "And you have no idea who he gave money to, because he did give it to someone, and in cash?"

  "Not a clue. Well, I know he gave money to charities each year, but I doubt if it was that much. And he was always willing to help someone who was down and out, as long as he felt that person was honest and wasn't lazy."

  "So, who inherits all this?"

  "I have no idea."

  "You think you might get part of it?"

  "I don't know. I think he had a will, but I don't know who gets what."

  "Do you think someone killed him for his money?"

  "I don't even think he was murdered. I think it was an accident, like the coroner said."

  "But the coroner didn't do an autopsy and my friend, who's a medical examiner, did, and he said it was murder."

  "Maybe he's mistaken."

  "And maybe someone isn't telling me all that he or she knows."

  I looked at Miss Longacre, who was shaking.

  "I wish I could tell you something, but I can't. I don't know anything. Someone must have sneaked up from the river after I went to bed Saturday night."

  "And Portwood was expecting them?"

  "I don't think he was expecting anyone."

  "Then why did he wait in his car until they arrived. Especially since it was after you went to bed."

  "Maybe whoever it was killed him and put him back in his car."

  "And they put his luggage back in the car, too, because it was there when the sheriff arrived? But then you know that."

  "How would I know?"

  "I thought you were the one who found him."

  "You've got me all mixed up. I didn't kill him. I just found him."

  "Shortly after he got home, on Saturday night."

  "No. I didn't find him until Sunday morning."

  "You were going to get married. You know he loved the book fair. And you weren't the least bit curious when he got home and didn't come over or call you."

  "I thought maybe he was still mad. Besides, he might have been tired and went on to bed. I already told you this."

  "He was so tired that he never made it out of the car. But then someone saw to it that he never left that car."

  "Well, it wasn't me."

  "So, how did you get in the house when you found him?"

  "I know where he leaves his spare key. I used it when he didn't answer my knock."

  "So, you just walked in, walked over to the garage, and found him in the front seat."

  "That's right! Well, no, that's not right. I hollered for him first. He didn't answer, so I looked around the house. I didn't see him anywhere, so I checked the garage. That's when I found him."

  "Did you turn on the garage light first?"

  "No, I could see the car, then saw him slumped behind the wheel. Then I turned on the light and rushed over to him, but I could tell he was dead."

  "Why did you need to turn on the light if it was daytime?"

  "Because there are no windows in that garage. It's dark in there with the garage door down, day or night."

  "And his garage door automatically closed once his car cleared it?"

  "He could set it either way, where it would close or stay open."

  "You seem to know a lot about his garage door."

  "We went places together. Sometimes he drove into the garage. Like if we were going in his house instead of me coming on home, he'd go ahead and shut it. If I had to get on home he left it up until after I left."

  "So, you know all about his garage door, but you don't know how much money he had and who's going to get it. We may be back, Miss Longacre. We may be back."

  "I told you I didn't do it, and I don't know who did. Now, stay away from me!"

  22

  I turned and Lou and I walked away. Before we had gone three steps she had shut the door. And hard.

  "So, what do you think, Lou? About the murder, I mean?"

  "I think the two neighbors were in on it together. They'll split the money they get from Portwood's will and live happily ever after."

  "Is that the reason both of them said they saw the other one going to or coming from Portwood's on Saturday night?"

  "Absolutely! That way it cuts down on the lies each of them was telling."

  "Let's go next door and see if the house can tell us something."

  The two houses weren't more than a hundred feet from each other, separated by Portwood's driveway. Lou and I walked across the yard and went around back to where Herb had told us he had left the key. It was time to see if the house could talk.

  It was after 4:00 before we checked Portwood's house. I didn't want to spend much time there because it gets dark early in November.

  I unlocked the door and Lou and I walked inside. Portwood hadn't been dead long enough for the place to smell musty. The first place I wanted to look was the garage. Because the coroner deemed Portwood's death an accident, the author's car was still there. I didn't think it would do me any good to have someone come and dust for prints. If either neighbor had killed Portwood, they could say they had been in the car many times. If he had been poisoned in Frankfort, it was doubtful the murderer had been in the dead man's car. Actually Portwood had two vehicles in the garage, and neither one was actually a car. One was a van, the other an SUV. I'd have to call Herb to find out in which one they found him, but my guess is it was the van. It was parked closer to the kitchen door. Lou and I looked over both vehicles carefully and didn't find a note of confession or anything else that would tell us who murdered him. I went to the kitchen door and checked to see if a light was needed to see inside the van with the garage door closed in the daytime. There wasn't a lot of light coming from the house, but enough to tell whether or not someone was behind the wheel of the vehicle.

  We went back inside and took a few minutes to look around the house. We looked through his desk and bedroom drawers but found no other journals, and the few minutes I took to check out his computer didn't turn up anything. I wanted to check one more place before we left.

  "Lou, shall we gather at the river?"

  "Let us gather with the saints at the river."

  We walked back to the front door. I turned to make one more perusal of the house, and then we left. I locked up and returned the key to Portwood's hiding place, which I assumed was known by everyone who knew him. It wasn't that long of a jaunt to the river and the ground was fairly level. It was a warm day for November, so my lightweight jacket felt just right. It took us only a couple of minutes to get there. I saw no evidence that a boat had been docked there recently, and I walked up and down the area and found no footprints. I didn't expect to find anything in the grass, but if someone had stepped into the mud between the river and the grass, whoever it was would ha
ve left footprints. There were none. I doubted if the murderer flew in by helicopter. Whoever killed Portwood was probably at home, either in or near Frankfort or Lawrenceburg, or just outside of Westport. I still had more people to talk to and maybe some people to talk to again after that.

  +++

  There was no one else nearby, so there was no trouble talking about what we knew or didn't know.

  "Remember today's clue, Lou. Somebody's lying. So, who is it? We've only talked to three people today; Jake Cartwright, Bob Barney, and Millie Longacre."

  "Four if you count Bill Noel. Five if you count Herb Wainscott."

  "Noel didn't sound nervous on the phone. So, it must have been Herb. Now, which one of the other three was lying to us?"

  "So you think two of them were telling the truth?"

  "Not necessarily. But if only one of them was lying my guess would be Millie Longacre. She sounded the most nervous."

  "I would agree. But things are never what they seem. So you think Herb came out and poisoned Portwood and cut the car off?"

  "Maybe there was more to that next-door neighbor romance than Barney let on. Maybe he was jealous, knew that Portwood had a lot of money and planned to move in on Millie Longacre after she inherited all of his money."

  "But we know she doesn't inherit most of it."

  "But does Barney know that?"

  "So does that mean that you've eliminated Cartwright and figure he and Portwood were just buddies who would never hurt each other?"

  "No, he's still on the list, too. It's too early to take anyone off the list."

  "It's not that early. See, it's starting to get dark."

  "Which means you and I need to hightail back to Lightning and get out of here."

  +++

  We walked back to Lightning, checked our shoes for mud, and got in when we didn't find any.

  "Well, Lou, let's head back to Frankfort. I'm ready to rest until tomorrow."

  I backed Lightning out of Portwood's driveway, and had Lou check to see if either of the neighbors were waving goodbye to us. Seeing no one bidding us a fond farewell or offering a last-minute invitation to an early supper, we headed off into the sunset. Actually, the sunset would be behind us, but things had clouded up enough that I saw no sun.