Chapter 33
We were saved by a combination of circumstances. Providence? Good fortune? Dumb luck? Or simply Digger?
Of course it was late that afternoon before we figured all that out. It took explanations from Digger, from us, from Brad, and from Hogan to understand it all.
As Digger had left our house, pulling onto Lake Shore Drive to take his emergency service call, he saw a black car coming toward him and recognized it as belonging to Dr. Davis. Looking into his rearview mirror, he realized it was turning into our lane.
He drove on, but after the recent conversation, Dr. Davis’s presence at our house bothered him. After half a mile, he swung into a driveway, turned around, and went back.
“I tried to sneak into your place,” Digger said. “I felt stupid to be so suspicious, but when I found Dr. Davis’s car parked on that back drive that leads out to the other road—well, it just made me awful nervous. So I parked in your driveway and went to the back door.”
We heard Digger yelling and banging on the kitchen door, but Joe and I couldn’t answer because Dr. Davis was holding us at gunpoint. So Digger went away. But he didn’t go far. He called 9-1-1 and talked to the emergency operator, even though he wasn’t sure anything was wrong.
“I thought I’d rather look like a fool than actually be one,” he said.
Next Digger armed himself with two heavy wrenches from the back of his truck. By then Dr. Davis was marching Joe and me across to the Bailey house. Digger caught sight of us and followed, jumping behind bushes so he wouldn’t be seen.
After we all reached the Bailey house, Digger found the Baileys’ extra key, still on the carport rafter. He unlocked the outside door to the basement, then knelt beside a window to keep an eye on what was happening.
“When I saw the doctor aiming that pistol at you two,” he said, “I began to make loud noises with those wrenches and some metal I found back there. And I hollered.” Digger smiled happily. “I knew that Joe would take care of things if I could just get the doctor distracted.”
Joe shook his head. “I wish I had felt that confident, Digger. It’s been a long time since I was a wrestler. I was sure every minute that Dr. Davis was going to shoot us both.”
“I wish something else,” I said. “I wish I knew where Vic VanHorn fit into this whole deal.”
“Oh, that one’s easy,” Hogan said. “He’d been involved since the night Dr. Drew Davis shot Curley McWhirley.”
“Did the doctor really do that?” I asked.
“We haven’t got the full story yet,” Hogan said. “Brad explained most of that—after his father was arrested. Brad had never understood everything he knew about McWhirley’s death. Now he’s cooperating fully.
“After the so-called holdup, Spud forgot his hoodie at the Country Convenience Store. When he went back to get it, he must have overheard Brad telling his dad that Curley had been present for the holdup and that he had gone away breathing threats at all the Sharks. Dr. Davis assured Brad he would take care of the situation and went off to do that, taking the pistol with him.
“Spud—always nosy,” Hogan said, “followed along and reached the spot where Curley was found just as the two men were having a big argument. The pistol went off; Curley fell dead.
“It could have been an accident,” Hogan said. “It could have been manslaughter. It could have been murder.
“From a hiding place in the trees, Spud continued to listen. Vic VanHorn arrived in his hearse. Spud heard Dr. Davis trying to convince Vic that he should help hide the cause of Curley’s death.”
“No autopsy, then,” I said.
Hogan shook his head. “It wasn’t needed, since McWhirley’s own doctor—Dr. Drew Davis—was there to certify the cause of death. Vic signed off on the papers, loaded McWhirley into the hearse, allowed Mrs. McWhirley a look at her husband, and took him away to the mortuary.”
“I guess there’s no way to prove anything now,” I said.
Hogan nodded. “Hiding a fatal shooting would require the cooperation of both the shooter and the funeral director who handled the body. Of course Dr. Davis was in a position to bring this about.”
“It’s surprising that Vic would go along with the plan,” Joe said.
“Twenty years ago,” Hogan said, “Vic was new in town and trying to make a business go. He would certainly have wanted to get along with everybody, maybe especially the doctor in town. When Davis called him to pick up a body, he would have probably accepted the doctor’s word that the shooting was an accident.”
I was still having trouble picturing Dr. Davis as a killer. “I thought something funny had gone on, but I never thought about the doctor actually killing Curley.”
“That’s the most logical explanation,” Hogan said. “And Vic agreed to help him cover up the crime. But the load on Vic’s conscience, or so he says, finally got so heavy he told Dr. Davis he was going to confess. That’s when Vic called Joe, wanting Joe to help him find a good lawyer. But Vic and Davis argued, and Davis ended up shooting Vic’s car full of holes, and shooting Vic at the same time.”
“How badly is Vic injured?” I asked.
“He’ll live,” Hogan said. “We’ve got him hidden in a hospital—not one in Holland. He wanted to have an attorney before he would talk to us. That happened this afternoon.”
“Maybe,” Joe said, “the original shooting actually was an accident.”
“Could be,” Hogan said. “But it won’t matter. Hitting Spud in the head with a two-by-four is murder no matter how you look at it. That’s a more likely charge.”
I shook my head. “So Dr. Davis killed Spud, too. Why?”
“To hide the fact that Spud had been blackmailing him,” Hogan said. “Spud wound up stealing both the pistol and McWhirley’s walking shoes, or so we believe, by taking them from Dr. Davis’s car. We think Dr. Davis took the shoes off McWhirley’s feet to hide the fact that they had Frozen Rainbow on them. And Dr. Davis had probably left the pistol in the car, too. So all Spud had to do was reach in and take them.”
“And both the shoes and the pistol were linked to McWhirley’s death by forensic evidence,” Joe said.
“Right,” Hogan said. “Spud was blackmailing Dr. Davis, but apparently he managed to keep the doctor from knowing who was doing it.”
I frowned. “It’s hard to believe Dr. Davis hadn’t figured out who was asking him for money.”
“Apparently Spud asked for small amounts of money at a time. Dr. Davis must have figured it was safer to pay than to try to eliminate the blackmailer, a person whose identity was unknown to him. But when Spud tried to get a larger sum of money—enough to develop the orchard and the Bailey house, plus another tract he had plans for—well, he must have tipped his hand. Davis was able to figure out who the blackmailer was.”
“Dr. Davis finally understood who was milking him?”
“That’s my guess,” Hogan said. “Dr. Davis followed Spud until he isolated him at the Bailey place, then used a two-by-four to kill him.”
Joe frowned. “How did ownership of the Country Convenience Store get mixed up in the blackmail?”
“According to Brad,” Hogan said, “several years after the phony holdup, Dr. Davis decided to sell the place. By then Spud was working in real estate, so he would have learned that it was for sale. We haven’t traced just how he worked the deal, but Spud wound up owning the store. It may have been a legitimate purchase, using the money he’d gained through blackmail. Later he sold the store to that management company.”
“At least Edna McWhirley will now know what happened to the missing shoes,” I said. “And she’ll understand what actually happened to her husband! But, what about the money stashed at the Country Convenience Store?”
“I think that was an emergency fund Spud left there, or part of it. And a hiding place for the shoes. But remember, Digger took the pistol and the shoes. But he didn’t find any cash at the store. Spud hid the money there later.”
Joe was still frowning. “The ‘Tater’ notes will always mystify me,” he said. “Hogan, where was the first one found?”
“In the pocket of the jacket Spud was wearing when he was killed. I think it was put there as an attempt to link you to the murder. Brad admits his dad pumped him about the nicknames. And apparently Davis heard enough about the Sharks’ business to mistakenly think that you were a member. He missed the part where you turned down their invitation.”
“And Dr. Davis borrowed Vic’s car the night of the attack on Jerry Cherry,” Hogan said. “The cars look similar. At least, they do in the dark. Both small and black.”
We all stared at one another, shaking our heads.
“A weird case,” Hogan said. “A lot of mistakes and misunderstandings.”
Gradually the Warner Pier community came to understand what had happened. The people I’ve felt sorry for, of course, are Brad and Felicia Davis. Not many events can cause a real community scandal these days, but Dr. Davis’s behavior certainly did it.
A few weeks later Felicia called us and asked if she and Brad could come out to talk. Naturally, we said yes. Equally naturally, we didn’t really want them to come.
But I made coffee and prepared an assortment of Christmas goodies—small chocolate Santa Claus figures, cranberry orange cinnamon truffles, mint bonbons, and eggnog truffles.
But I loaded the serving dishes with dread in my soul. Were Brad and Felicia going to ask some special favor for Dr. Davis?
But they didn’t. Both simply asked us to forgive Brad’s father, if we could. His lawyers were saying it seemed very unlikely that he’d ever be released from prison.
And they said they hoped that the four of us could continue our friendship.
We assured them we could certainly try to keep that friendship alive.
“We thought of moving away,” Brad said. “But there seemed little point in that. In today’s world there are no secrets. Our friends and families are going to know what happened. I remember that—well, I think I suspected my dad was mixed up in something funny the night of the fake holdup. When he wasn’t charged or even investigated, I got frightened, and the episode left a distance between the two of us for—what?—all these years. Oddly, after all this commotion, we’re finally able to talk normally again.”
Brad smiled. “Heck! This is the age of Google! Even if we move, other people will be able to find us. Felicia and I think we’ll be able to live with the situation here in Warner Pier as well as anywhere else.”
“Good,” I said. “Maggie’s been terrified that she’d have to find a new board member for the Showboat project.”
Felicia held her chin high. “Oh, I’m still planning to be on board the Showboat,” she said. “Break a leg!”