The Bass Wore Scales (34 page)

“
That’s not what I’m asking.”

Bootsie nodded. I waited without saying anything. Finally she spoke.

“
He was a good man and a good husband, and he doted on Mona. He could be a little self-righteous, but he was a Man of God. It was Mona...”

I waited again. Bootsie sighed heavily.

“
Mona wasn’t ever satisfied. She wanted him to make more money, drive a fancier car, take expensive vacations—stuff like that.” Bootsie lowered her voice. “She wasn’t well-liked.”

“
Was she having an affair?”

“
Good heavens!” Bootsie exclaimed. “I can’t imagine it. She worshipped Brother Kilroy. Not literally, of course.”

“
How about that Bennett Shipley fellow? He follows her around like a puppy.”

Bootsie squirmed. “No. Mr. Shipley is the head deacon. He was required to go into confession with Brother Kilroy every week. I’ve never seen him and Mona together. To tell you the truth, I’m not sure that Mona had much use for any man other than Brother Kilroy. She told me once that she could never marry again because Jimmy was so good that he’d ruined all other men for her.” Bootsie blushed.

“
Is Shipley married?”

“
Oh, yes. He’s married with five children.”

“
So, to your knowledge, neither Brother Kilroy nor Mona was involved with anyone else.” Bootsie shook her head. “Neither one of them was having an affair?” I continued. “There wasn’t any hanky-panky going on in the hot-tub in that palatial bathroom of his? Brother Kilroy wasn’t engaging in any late-afternoon private counseling sessions with female church members?”

“
No, he was not.” Bootsie lowered her arms, pushed up her beehive, and straightened her blouse. “I’ll tell you this much. Whenever Brother Kilroy had a female member in for counseling, Mona always sat in. It was something he insisted on.”

“
Can you tell me who had appointments with Kilroy before he was killed?”

Bootsie opened the appointment book. “How far before?”

“
A week.”

“
Well...let’s see here. He was killed on a Sunday. On the Monday before, Dave Vance and Collette came in for their weekly marriage counseling session. Brother Kilroy went to the hospital in Asheville in the afternoon—Gina Catlenburg was having some surgery. On Tuesday morning he was at a prayer breakfast at seven, then into the office for a staff meeting, lunch, a meeting with Bennett Shipley, the head deacon, at two, Men’s Bible study at four. That’s all that was on the calendar. I usually leave at four.”

“
How about Wednesday?”

“
On Wednesday, Brother Kilroy never came in before noon since he has Wednesday Night Prayer Meeting. At three o’clock, he had a meeting with the praise-team leader. At four, our Wonderful Wednesday programming starts. He’s here, but he wanders all over the church checking on things.”

I nodded. Nothing interesting, as far as I could tell.

“
On Thursday morning, he plays golf with a foursome from the Ministerial Association in Boone. At 1:30, he went over to Watauga Medical Center to check on our hospitalized members. We have three. Then he came back here to work on his message for Sunday. He usually worked on it—undisturbed—on Thursday afternoon and Friday morning. Then he took Friday afternoon off.”

“
So he didn’t have any appointments on Friday morning?” I asked.

“
Well, yes, actually, he did have one,” said Bootsie, looking down at the book. “At eleven o’clock. A young man named Burt Coley. He’s not a member of this church.”

“
Was he wearing a police uniform?”

“
Why, no. But, come to think of it, I think I’ve seen him before.”

“
He was one of the policemen that came from Boone on Monday when you called 911,” I said.

“
Yes! That’s why he seemed familiar. I was so upset, though.”

“
I understand. Does it say why he wanted to see Brother Kilroy?” I asked.

“
It doesn’t say, but I remember exactly. We had a very pleasant conversation before he went in. He was going to enter the ministry, and Brother Kilroy was on his discernment committee. He was such a nice young man.”

“
I shall have to talk to Officer Coley,” I said. You’ve been very helpful. I’m going to borrow this key for a little while.”

* * *

“
We have a couple of puzzles,” I said, “that need un-puzzling.” Nancy, Dave and I were sitting at a table in the Bear and Brew. “The first one is the locked door.”

I laid the key on the table, and we all looked closely at it. It was three inches long, black with age and substantial.

“
The door was locked from the inside. Apparently, this is the only key. Bootsie told me that Mona had asked for a copy numerous times, but that Brother Kilroy always refused.”

“
Could she have made a copy on the sly?” asked Dave.

“
Nope,” said Nancy, picking up the key and looking at it closely. “Look here. This is a double-bitted key. A normal key from this time period would have the head dropping from one side of the shaft. This has two heads—one going up and one going down. Not only that, but do you see the cutting on both sides?”

We looked and nodded.

“
Look how the metal returns back on itself, making a small ‘L.’ A regular tumbler lock uses a set of levers to prevent the bolt from moving in the lock. Usually, the key lifts the tumbler above a certain height and allows the bolt to slide past. But this key opens a double acting lever lock.
This
key would require two turns to lock or unlock the door. The first turn allows the first bit to unlock one lever; the second turn does the same with the bit on the opposite side. A double lock, really.”

“
Huh,” I said. “Two turns, eh? I never tried it.”

“
How do you know this stuff?” asked Dave.

“
I pick locks for a hobby,” said Nancy. “It’s one of the many things you don’t know about me. This lock would be very difficult to pick.”

“
Could you do it?” I asked.

“
Sure. It’d take me probably fifteen minutes. But that’s just unlocking. I’m not sure you could lock it back without a key.”

“
Why couldn’t Mona have made a copy?” I asked.

“
I guess she could have. People can do anything in this day and age. But this is a forged key, not a cut one. She’d have to make a careful impression and send it off to a forge somewhere to have another copy made. Very expensive—I’d say eleven or twelve hundred dollars for the mold, the pouring, all the extras.”

“
Twelve hundred bucks?” said Dave. “Sheesh.”

Of course, if she had twenty keys made, the price-per-key would go down considerably,” said Nancy.

“
I doubt she’d need twenty keys,” said Dave, “but it’s not impossible.”

“
It
is
improbable,” I said. “She might have done it, but it implies a level of premeditation that I don’t think exists.”

“
What if she did it a year ago, just to have a copy?” Nancy offered. “In case she needed it.”

“
I guess it’s possible,” I admitted. “But expensive. Here’s a thought. What if we took the lock apart? If a new key was used, would there be evidence of it in the lock?”

“
Absolutely,” said Nancy. “Any new key would probably have been made of brass, and new brass always leaves a trace.”

“
You two go and check it,” I said. “We’ll meet back here this afternoon. And stay out of the dumpster.”

Chapter 21

The line over at the courthouse had dissipated and all the heroes were merrily about the task of big game hunting. I could hear the baying of beagles up in the hills to the north of town. Gathered in the park were a couple of small groups of orange-clad men going over topographical maps of the area, planning out their strategy. Most had their deer-rifles slung over their shoulders, but I saw one with a .50 caliber muzzle-loader and several packing large pistols. I recognized Sergeant Todd McCay and Burt Coley from the Boone P.D. walking across the park toward their pick-up.

“
Hey there, fellow peace officers,” I called. “Doing a little gorilla hunting?”

Burt shrugged sheepishly, and Todd gave me a big smile as I walked over.

“
Hey, it’s five grand, we’re both hunters and it’s our day off,” said Todd. “We might as well give it a try.”

I nodded, said goodbye and walked over to the Slab. I had left Moosey with Pete with instructions to put him to work around the restaurant until I returned. He was busy sweeping the floor when I walked in. The Slab was back open and ready for business.

“
Hayden,” Moosey called out. “Pete let me pick out anything on the menu for lunch!”

“
Wow! What did you have?”

“
A piece of coconut cake, and a donut I found in the fridge, and some blackberry cobbler, pumpkin pie, and pancakes with chocolate ice cream on top for dessert! It was great!”

“
Sounds very healthy.” I shot Pete a nasty look, but he ignored me.

“
The donut had green sprinkles on it,” said Pete. “That counts as a salad.”

“
Miss Farthing came by,” said Moosey, “and she said that I could go over to her house this afternoon and help Miss Ruby with a jigsaw puzzle.”

“
That sounds like fun.” I was relieved that I didn’t have to keep an eye on the boy. Two gunshots echoed through the stillness of the afternoon, and Moosey suddenly became less animated and very quiet.

“
Don’t worry,” I whispered. “Those were close to town. Not more than a half-mile away.”

Moosey nodded and continued to sweep, but I could tell he was anxious.

I left the Slab and walked down to the Police Department where I dropped into my chair and picked up the phone. Seven digits later, Kent Murphee picked up the line.

“
Afternoon, Kent. This is Hayden.”

“
I saw the ad in the paper. You have many hunters out your way?”

“
Yeah. Pete sold a bunch of licenses. Maybe four hundred or so.”

“
Wow!”

“
Wow is right. How’s Penelope holding up?”

“
Not well. She doesn’t want to drive back to St. Germaine. Just in case…you know.”

“
Yeah. I understand.”

“
Did you find out who took Kokomo?”

“
Umm,” I said. “It’s an ongoing investigation. Tell Penelope to try not to worry.”

* * *

My next call was over to the new forensic lab at Appalachian State. It was a good lab and part of their criminal justice program. A voice I recognized as Jillian Crocker answered the phone on the third ring.

“
Hi, Jillian,” I said. “This is Hayden. Do you have anything for me on that pipe that Nancy brought over?”