Murder at the Book Fair (4 page)

"Both series mysteries?"

"Are there any other kind of
books other than whodunits?"

"You've sold me. I'll take
the first two in each series. If I don't like them I'll camp out on your
doorstep and demand twice my money back."

He laughed and stuck his hand out
to shake mine.

"You're my kind of guy,"
Portwood said. "I'm surprised no one has written a series about you
yet."

"Who says they haven't?"

He laughed again.

As Col. Portwood started to sign
my books, I looked over at the next table where an author motioned for me to
come over there.

"When you get home, you'll
just toss Cereal's garbage in the fireplace. I don't want you to think your
trip here was for naught, so let me fix you up with some fine mysteries,
written the way people used to write."

Col. Portwood heard this and
retaliated.

"The name is Cyril, not
Cereal, but I'm affectionately known as the Colonel. At least until I'm
knighted, which I don't think is far away."

"He means charged, not
knighted."

"Yeah, get some of his books
if you like your books stale. People have been picking his up all morning, then
going up into the stands to sit down and read a page. Then they come back and
toss them back down on his table. That's the reason why he has so many left.
See how dog-eared the pages are. The only way to enjoy his books is to have
some John Barleycorn handy."

I looked at the books. They looked
in mint condition, not dog-eared, and he had no more books on the table than
the man who referred to himself as the Colonel.

"Well, the only way to truly
judge the two of you is to buy an equal amount of both."

I looked down at the man's name.

"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.

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
medical 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."

"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."