Murder in Gatlinburg (20 page)

And then I thought of
another scenario. Harlan can drive a bus. Some people might struggle to drive
something that big. But Harlan had no problem doing it. And Harlan took Earl's
place. Could Harlan have hit Earl on the head, driven him to the back of the
Dixie Stampede lot, and then packed him away when the crowd died down? Should I
add Harlan to my suspect list? After all, sometimes murderers come across as
nice guys, willing to help people.

Huddling together with
my thoughts that Lou didn't want me to conjure up had caused me to ignore him.
It was time to include him in my life again.

"Now that you've
had time to mull it over, do you have any idea what's happening?"

"Certainly, Cy.
We're recently retired. We're on vacation. The department paid for our trip.
And at least one of us is having a good time."

"And at least one
of us, Earl, isn't having such a good time. The jury is still out on Inez and
Miss Friendly."

"And now that we're
retired, we don't care as much what the jury thinks. At least not to the point
that we will make any contribution to its outcome."

"Do you really feel
that way?"

"Sure. I've worked
hard for a lot of years. Now I'm ready to enjoy retirement."

"Me, too, unless
murder is going to follow us wherever we go."

"Just as long as it
follows us or precedes us, I can live with that. I just don't want it right
where we are."

"But that's where I
think it is right now."

Lou spun around.

"I don't see it
anywhere."

"And I bet Earl
didn't see it coming, either."

"He might have. Didn't
he look a bit jumpy to you?"

"I just figured
that his underwear was too tight. Or maybe it had something to do with
caffeine."

"Then maybe he was
just a random killing, and there's nothing you do can solve it."

Lou and I dispensed of
any talk and started walking again when we began to recognize a lot of the
faces coming toward us. As far as we could tell none of the hands that accompanied
those faces held a weapon or tried to throw anyone into the Little Pigeon River,
or whatever tributary was below us.

+++

Lou put on his brave
face and said he was man enough to tackle the Mysterious Mansion. It looked
creepy on the outside, and the hearse parked nearby only added to that creepiness.
Once we entered we began our jaunt around the house by riding a shaky, rusty
elevator to an upper floor. Both of us lived through that experience with no
problem. No one else was on the elevator with us except the grim reaper. He
didn't look happy. Maybe he had just been told that he wasn't getting a cost of
living raise this year.

In my experience as a
police officer I don't remember any time when someone jumped out at me. Well,
other than my next-door neighbor. I think it had something to do with the fact
I carried a gun. But I didn't have a gun with me in Gatlinburg. And because I
wasn't carrying, I was able to record my personal best in the high jump when
some guy jumped out of the wall at me. I think Lou was more scared than he let
on. I noticed that the place had several emergency exits. I figured that was
for anyone who wanted to live until nightfall. I about lost it again when something
came at me from somewhere near the ceiling. On another occasion a guy wearing a
hockey mask and carrying a chainsaw, which he started in my presence, handed me
a piece of paper. I took it and stuck it in my pocket. I thought maybe the note
might tell me that I would live to fight another day. Or I won free admission to
the gift shop. The most puzzling part of that experience was when we found
ourselves in a room that didn't appear to have an exit, an emergency one or otherwise.
Maybe we were to stay in that room until the house was razed, or they held an
open house. Eventually we learned about secret passageways, and eventually we
stepped back out into the land of sunshine. Other than losing two or three of
my nine lives inside the house, it was a fun experience that I would recommend
to friends and enemies alike.

When Lou and I emerged
back into the outside world and I could see again, I turned to my traveling
companion, anxious to learn about his experience, and if he would tell the
truth when I asked him if he was scared.

"What does yours
say?"

He looked me dumbfounded,
which was normal for him and why I solved most of our cases back in the day.

"What does my what
say? Did you have an out of body experience in there?"

"No, I think all of
my experiences in there were in body. And I meant what does you note say?"

"What note?"

"Did you see a guy
wearing a hockey mask and carrying a chainsaw?"

"You mean the one
that almost put you on a rapid weight loss program?"

"One and the same.
What did the note he handed you say?"

"Cy, did you stare
too long at the revolving wheel?"

"What revolving
wheel?"

"The one that took
you into a world where scary guys pass you notes."

"You mean he didn't
hand you anything?"

"No. He didn't hand
me anything."

I reached into my
pocket, eager to see if I was the one millionth visitor and if I won a replica
of the mansion or some other prize. I unfolded the paper, and looked at it.

"Is it blank?"

"I wish it
were."

"Does it say put
all your money in a paper bag and hand to me?"

"Do I look like a
bank teller to you?"

"So, what does it
say? Don't be so nosy?"

"In a manner of
speaking. It's just two words. 'Back off.' Did you arrange for the guy to hand
me this note?"

"Not guilty, Your
Honor."

I could think of only
one thing someone would caution me to back off from. Trying to figure out who
the murderer was. I took off to the entrance and asked to speak to the person
in charge. A couple of minutes later someone approached me and offered to help.

"Yes. I was
wondering the name of the gentleman who wears the hockey mask and carries the
chainsaw."

The man looked at me
like he wasn't sure if I was serious or not.

"You and your
friend have a disagreement as to which character is who? The one wearing the
hockey mask is Jason. The one who carries the chainsaw is Leatherface."

"You mean that
usually one wears the mask and one carries the chainsaw?"

"I have a feeling
you haven't seen the movies."

"What movies?"

He shook his head,
wishing it had been his day off.

"Sir, I don't
understand where you're coming from."

I refrained from telling
him Hilldale, Kentucky.

"I want the name of
the actor inside, who handed me this note. The guy who was wearing a hockey
mask and carrying a chainsaw."

"Sir, none of our
actors wear a hockey mask or carry a chainsaw. The chainsaw, it if were real,
would be too dangerous. Someone would be likely to get hurt, and the insurance
would be prohibitive."

"I don't care about
your insurance rates, but I was the guy who could have been hurt. Not only was
some guy carrying a chainsaw, but it was running. And he was standing as close
to me as you are. Closer even. Close enough to hand me a note. This note."

"Excuse me a
minute. Let me check on this for you."

He turned away without
reading the note and left to call on a higher authority. I was hoping it wasn't
the guy with the chainsaw. He returned a couple of minutes later.

"I'm sorry. I don't
know what happened, but I did find a chainsaw and a hockey mask inside. They
aren't part of our props, and none of our employees admit to having either of
them. Were you hurt?"

"No, I'm fine. I
guess it was one of our group playing a trick on me."

"Well, if we catch
someone doing something like that on our premises, we will prosecute. Would you
like for me to notify the police?"

"No, I'm a retired
homicide detective. I'll take care of it."

The manager walked away.
I think the only reason he believed my outrageous story was that I didn't ask
for my money back, and he did find a hockey mask and a chainsaw.

I turned to face Lou. He
had this incredible look on his face.

"It appears like
someone has threatened you."

"And no one in our
group has an alibi."

"Well, one does for
sure. I'm not sure about the other two who are missing."

I took a couple of
minutes to compose myself. I wish it had been light enough inside that I could
have seen the person's hair. I couldn't even tell if it was a man or a woman.
So it could have been Inez or Miss Friendly. I certainly didn't expect to be
threatened on my first vacation. I wondered if the murderer had found out that
I was a retired homicide detective, or if someone had merely learned that I was
a little more inquisitive than the rest of the passengers. I planned to watch
my back wherever else I went.

I guess it was fitting
that the next place we were headed was the antithesis of the place we had just
left. I kept checking over my shoulder as we walked to Christ in the Smokies,
our next attraction. It took us a little longer to get there, but I wanted to
see who might be hot on our trail. Of course the time we spent talking to the
manager was sufficient to allow whoever accosted me to get away. Whoever it was
could be well ahead, or well behind. Our travels took us from one end of River Road to the other. Well, I guess it was a distance that wasn't too far if you're on vacation,
but a great distance if you were at home and just starting your exercise
program.

While I didn't
appreciate it at the time I began, I was glad that I didn't wait to start my
exercise program in Gatlinburg. If I had the trolley would have been my new
best friend.

Christ in the Smokies
was a moving experience. As we moved from one scene to another and traveled
through the Bible, and through the life of Christ, I wondered what the others
in our group were feeling. I must admit that it was the first time I'd thought
of Jesus that day, after I'd closed my Bible and said my prayer during my
morning devotional time. I didn't even think of Him when I thought I might be
on my way to join him.

I wondered if someone
who is a part of our group moving through the life of Christ with me had ended
the life of at least one other person in the last week. If so, I wondered if going
through the wax museum made any difference in the condition of that person's
heart. As you can imagine, it was much quieter inside that building than any other
place we had been since we had left home.

+++

The touring company
planned our schedule quite nicely. It was 4:48 as I stepped back outside and into the bright sunlight. Once again it took a moment for my eyes to readjust
to the bright light. After I could see again without shielding my eyes, I
looked over at Lou. I could see that he too had been touched by what he had
seen.

I knew that all of our
group would soon be together again, so after giving a quick glance to see if
anyone looked any different after leaving, Lou and I walked ahead. While I was
in much better shape than I had been in many years, I was ready for a nice
comfortable seat in a highly recommended restaurant. So far all the restaurants
that were part of our itinerary had been somewhere I would return to when I come
back to Gatlinburg. Because so many had talked about The Peddler, I expected
much from a dining experience there.

A bus that looked like
ours drove by as Lou and I neared the restaurant. I assumed that Harlan was
behind the wheel. Or whoever had murdered him. The bus pulled into The Peddler parking
lot, and a couple of minutes later Lou and I caught up with it. The door didn't
open. We weren't motioned inside. And there was no flash of headlights. So I
figured that no news meant good news. Either that or whoever had murdered
Harlan was still inside, embalming the body, getting him ready for burial.

Lou and I walked on into
the mostly empty restaurant instead of waiting for the others. And were glad we
did. We were given a choice of a table by the window, overlooking the Little
Pigeon River and any bodies that might be floating by. It was a nice view and
we took advantage of the opportunity. There were not enough window seats that
everyone in our party would receive one. It didn't take me long to realize that
that place had a different kind of ambiance than the Blue Moon Diner back home.
I wondered if it was a place that had more than two forks per person.

The place started to
fill up, mostly with people from our group, some of whom looked like they
didn't belong there. When Jack Ripatoe entered I wondered if it was the first
time someone had come there sporting a multitude of tattoos. I didn't think so.
Times had changed.