Murder at the Book Fair (27 page)

A little after
noon
I called Lou. I could tell by the way he answered the phone
that he hadn't solved the case, but then he would have called me if he had
something that would burst it wide open.

"Well, I'm not completely
empty-handed. I do have a clue of the day for us. It's you put the cart before
the horse."

"So, all we have to do is
figure out which thing happened differently than we have believed up to this
point. We know he wasn't poisoned before Friday night, so that can't be it.
Could it be that the journal wasn't placed in Portwood's van until after he
arrived home?"

"Well, that's the
neighborhood where our best suspects live, so I guess we can rule out the two
of them."

"Not so fast, my friend. What
else could it be that happened at a different time than we suspected? Or could
it be that we assume something to have happened that didn't happen?"

+++

A few hours later I got a call
from my friend in the department that I had left the journal with earlier. He
had a definite match, although the person who wrote it had tried to disguise
the handwriting. Cyril Portwood hadn't written in the journal, but then I had
begun to think that whoever wrote it was someone other than Portwood. Someone
who knew what Portwood usually did the week of each book fair. But was the
person who wrote in the journal the person who murdered him?  I wasn't sure. I
needed one more piece of information. I already knew that no one on my suspect
list had a second account in any of the towns near where they lived, but what
about somewhere where we wouldn't expect someone to have an account. For the
time being I would concentrate on the person who wrote in the journal. I picked
up the phone and called Sam Schumann. I reminded him of the names I had given
him earlier, which he told me he still had. And I asked him to search farther
for a second bank account. I told him to begin with a certain person and all
the banks in two towns. He told me he would get back to me as soon as
possible. 

+++

I knew it would take Sam a while,
maybe a couple of days, to find someone with a second account. In the meantime
I wanted to work my way through all the people I talked to and remember
anything they said that might incriminate themselves or shed some light on
another person of interest. I concentrated on anything someone might have told
me that wasn't true, anyone who had more or less money than they should have
had, or anything someone told me that he or she shouldn't have known. By the
time I finished I had jotted down two people that had told me two things that
were either lies or information they shouldn't have known. I thought I knew who
murdered Portwood, but I would wait to hear back from Sam before I rested my
case.

+++

I called Sam to give him my cell
phone number. I didn't reach him. He was probably on the phone working. After I
left a message I called Lou to see if he wanted to pick up something from
Antonio's and bring it over. I was ready to discuss the case with him. A little
over a half hour later he showed up with two of our staples from days gone by,
two Stromboli steak sandwiches and two orders of French fries with gravy. We
might not have gotten to the end, but we were far enough along that I was ready
to celebrate.

+++

I didn't expect to hear from Sam
that soon, so it didn't bother me when I hadn't heard from him by the time Lou
and I called it a night. Besides, he would be contacting banks, and banks
weren't open at night.

I got up the next morning feeling
good. I spent my time with God, remembered that cleanliness is next to
godliness, and hopped in the shower. Then I called Lou to see if he wanted to
go out for breakfast.

'Have you heard from Sam
yet?"

"No, but I gave him my cell
phone number. He was surprised that you and I have entered the modern
era."

Lou and I cut the chitchat short,
and I left the house to pick him up. I was glad that I no longer had to avoid
my next-door neighbor anytime I wanted to leave the house.

We ate, and for the first time in
several days we acted like we were retired again. I hoped that I hadn't gotten
my hopes up too high. I was sure that bulldog Sam would come through for me. It
was mid-afternoon when Sam called.

"Well, Cy, could you use a
little over $200,000?"

"You've finally decided to
share with me?"

"No, I finally found out
where the money is. It wasn't in either of the two towns you suggested, but I
found it nearby."

Sam went on to tell me in whose
account the money was, and that there had been one $50,000 deposit each of the
last four years. And roughly the same time each year.

I thanked Sam for his time and
hard work, hung up, and looked at my watch. It was
4:04
. Since the murderer didn't live in Hilldale, I would wait
until the next day, when I had back-up, to make the arrest. I called Lou and
told him the good news, and that we would be listening to some more good music
the next day, and then called Herb Wainscott to let him know. I told him I had
three pieces of evidence, and at least two of them would stick in court.

+++

The next morning Lou and I were on
the road by
9:00
. I headed to meet my back-up and
then drove to meet the murderer, who wouldn't be expecting us. We arrived just
in time to interrupt someone's lunch.

"Oh, back again. You have
more questions. And why do you have these policemen with you?"

"Dan Grimes, you are under
arrest for the murder of Cyril Portwood."

I stopped while one of the members
of the homicide division of the Kentucky State Police read Grimes his rights.
He was then given a paper to sign.

"This is ridiculous. If you
remember, I was out of town when Cyril Portwood died. Remember, I was at a
wedding."

"How convenient."

"I bet you were also out of
town when you deposited $50,000 each year in a bank in
Sevierville
,
Tennessee
."

 "Hey, I earned that
money!"

"I thought you two parted
ways two years ago. It was more like a few days ago. What did he do? Tell you
he didn't need you anymore to promote his books?"

"I told you I was out of town
when he died. And I haven't seen him in two years."

"And you were out of town
when he died. But you were in town when you opened the door of his van on
Thursday night. His van he never locked, so you dumped some poison in his
Thermos bottle. Not only that, but we found the journal you put under his seat.
Our handwriting expert identified you as the one who wrote it. And by the way,
that was only one of the ways you messed up. You told me he drove a van."

"So. He did drive a
van."

"But he didn't own the van
until sometime earlier this year. I'm not all that familiar with vehicles, but
I noticed his had only 7,000 miles on it. Most people drive farther than that
in two years. So I took a picture of it, and checked it on the Internet. Then I
found out where he bought it."

"Why did he decide to cut you
off without any more $50,000 payments?"

"Okay, you've got me. He
thought I was someone who was a good promoter whose luck had turned bad. So he
started giving me money. He didn't know that my mother had left me very well
off. In return for his nice gesture, I told him I would promote his books. What
he didn't know until a couple of days before he died was that for years I was
paying people to buy his books. He was appalled and said he could sell his
books without my help."

"And it turned out he
could."

"Yeah, he was right about
that."

"Well, these two gentlemen
are ready to take you away, and where you're going you won't need Portwood's
money or your mother's money either."

+++

I waited until the police had
taken Grimes away, before turning to Lou.

"Well, Lou, it looks like
we're retired again."

"But there are still three
things that I don't get. One, who was lying, Barney, Millie Longacre, or both?
Two, who was that volunteer at the book fair that we could never identify? And
three, who was the mysterious woman that Portwood was talking to near Gibby's
on the night he died?"

"Well, obviously one of
Portwood's two neighbors was lying, and I think it was Millie Longacre because
the story Bob Barney told us the other day makes more sense. She had to be the
one to cut off the ignition on Portwood's van. As for that volunteer, I don't
have a clue, and I don't care. Same with the mysterious woman. Maybe it was a
stranger. Remember, he was the kind of guy who was known to help people from
time to time."

"Yeah, and one of those
people ended up killing him."

"That's right, but I still
plan to go on helping people when I have a chance."

"Like we've done for Herb
Wainscott."

"Right! Now, we are back to
where we were. We're retired again. Want to go play some indoor miniature
golf?"

"Can I wait until tomorrow? I
just want to grab some lunch and get on the road that leads back home."

"And I'll sing you some
lullabies as we listen to the radio while I drive."

"Cy, I never thought I would
miss Lightning so much."

"Which reminds me. I'll
schedule a memorial service for a few days after we get home."

"Do you plan to name your new
van?"

"I don't know yet, but it is
something to think about, and I should have plenty of time to think."