Rex got called into work in the afternoon to deal with a problem in the office. Apparently, Officer Kevin Dooley, our version of the village idiot, had brought in a shoplifter who, in the course of being booked, stole three staplers, five ink cartridges, and Dooley's midday snack from the fridge. Kevin was obsessed with food, so it didn't go over well, and now both the officer and the shoplifter were in separate cells.
Without Rex here to keep an eye on me, I had time to think. And I used that thinking time to get into my silver minivan and check something out.
As I drove the ten miles to Bladdersly, I realized I didn't really have a plan. Maybe barging into town looking for answers wasn't the best idea, but it was all I had. Riley and Kelly hadn't answered my calls, and I figured this was the only chance I'd have to check out the scene of the crime before Vanderzee got back into town.
There was a car on my tail—a bright yellow Dodge. We were the only cars on the road, so maybe he wanted to pass. In Iowa, on two-lane highways, people passed you when you went too slow. Of course, this was mostly when stuck behind a lumbering piece of farm equipment or a very old lady in a Cadillac that hadn't left the garage since 1974.
I stuck my arm out the window and waved him around. There was no way I was going to get a speeding ticket, because that would only make things worse. The yellow car dropped back a few feet. Maybe they just hadn't realized they were tailgating me.
I pulled into town and tried to remember where the strip mall was. There were many, many strip malls. Bladdersly had aspired to a place above its station in the 1990s by building a lot of strip malls, hoping that would attract business. Unfortunately, no one told them that they needed renters for those places, so they mostly stayed empty.
Turning off the outlying road onto Main Street, I hoped that bisecting the town would make it easier to find the place where it happened. Most small towns in Iowa had charming little downtown areas. Who's There had a park, a couple restaurants, an ice cream shop, and Randi and Ronni's store, Ferguson Taxidermy—Where Your Pet Lives On Forever! It was in the historic Peterson Victorian built by the founding family.
Bladdersly appeared to be the exception to the rule. I passed two dilapidated taverns—The Rabid Squirrel and The Dew Drop Inn. There was a gas station that had been boarded up, a comic book shop, two mom-and-pop restaurants that seemed to require a tetanus shot for admittance, and two tattoo parlors. The only decent building was a large old theater, The Opera House, that had a marquee announcing The Triumphant Return of Hello Dolly!
Harold Spellman's name was underneath as director, producer, and star. Ugh. Harold and I had worked disastrously together in Central America for about ten minutes. He went on to become a terrible actor here. Hopefully I wouldn't run into him anytime soon.
Pulling over, I tried to think. And that's when I noticed that I was right in front of Pump & Pawn, which seemed to be a combination gym and pawn shop. It was next to The Opera House, and I could see the shed from last night. I drove into the lot and around back.
In the daylight, the shed looked like nothing. The inside had been decent, but the outside was made up of peeling metal siding that, if the sun hit it in just the right spot, you'd go blind. I was rubbing my eyes when I noticed a flash of yellow in the reflection.
Without turning around, I glanced at a papered-over glass window to see the yellow Dodge again. It was parked a few yards away. An average-looking young man with shaggy brown hair stepped out and sat on the hood. The kid wore an Aloha shirt, khaki slacks, and boat shoes. He couldn't have been older than twenty.
I walked toward him. "Can I help you?"
The kid waved me off. "Nah. I'm good. Thanks though."
I tried hard not to grind my teeth. "I don't really want to help you."
He seemed surprised. "Then why did you ask? It seems kind of rude to ask and not mean it."
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath before asking, "Are you following me?"
He blinked for a second or two before answering. "Kinda?"
"You don't know?"
"Oh, I know," he answered amiably.
"Why are you following me?"
"Oh, right. I'm a bounty hunter." He fished around in a shirt pocket and handed me a card that read:
Kurt Allen Hobbs Jr. III Esquire, Bounty Hunter
No felon too SCARY, no crook too small.
"Too small? What does that mean?"
"It means that I can chase down everything from a shoplifter at the Dollar Store to a serial killer on the lam."
"That's quite a range."
"Thank you. You'd be surprised how many shoplifters we have at all the Dollar Stores in Bladdersly. I could probably work full time on that alone."
"Not really…" I started to say.
"We have thirteen of those stores, and they average two or three shoplifters a day." He gave me a broad, toothy smile. "So thanks for the compliment!"
"I didn't mean it as a compliment."
That seemed to knock some of the wind out of his sails. "Oh."
I pocketed the card, and he jumped off the car, running toward me, hands out. I ducked out of the way and tripped him. Never run at a spy. Never.
Kurt got up from the ground and dusted himself off.
"Sorry," I lied. "Force of habit. Why did you run at me like that?"
He seemed to think it was a strange question. "I need the card back."
I pulled it out and studied it. "Why?"
Kurt put his hands on his hips. "It's the only one I have. It's actually a prototype."
"A prototype of a business card?" I studied it. It was basically white cardstock.
"Yes, and a very expensive one at that." He stared at the card with a pained expression.
For some reason, I sympathized. I took a photo of the card with my phone and handed it back.
"Are you following me because I posted bail? I'm not skipping town. I'm just checking things out."
"It doesn't hurt to be prepared," he said. "I figured I should follow you, and the minute you skip bail—Whammo!" He slammed his left fist into his right hand. "I've got you. Then I'll be able to afford more cards. You skipping bail and me catching you will launch my career."
"I'm not going to skip bail. I'm going to find out who framed me."
He deflated. "You're not?"
"No. Who's There is my home. I have no intention of leaving it."
"What if you just skipped bail a little so that I can bring you in? It would be great for my reputation."
"No."
"Please? I'm just getting started. I could use the collar." He held his hands up toward the sky as if proclaiming something. "Genius, manly bounty hunter nabs ex-CIA serial killer! Maybe I can get my own reality show!"
"I'm not a serial killer." But it was tempting to start with Kurt Allen Hobbs Jr. III Esquire.
He smiled. "Yes, but you could be. Just knock off someone else. I won't look. I promise." He crossed his heart.
"Are you nuts?"
"Okay." He rubbed his chin. "How about just murderer?"
"I haven't murdered anyone and don't plan to. Nor, like I've said several times already, do I plan to skip bail."
His face fell. "Can I just follow you? I told Kayla I was working a case. She said she'd only go out with me if I had a job. She lives in Who's There like you. It would be a huge deal if I could date a girl from Who's There."
That was unexpected. "Kayla? Druid Kayla who works at the ice cream parlor?"
He brightened. "That's her! Isn't she amazing? Anyway, if I can say I was chasing a dangerous perp all day, maybe she'd go out with me. Please can I follow you around?"
I thought about that. With someone out there willing to frame me, it wouldn't hurt to have a witness seeing that I'm not doing anything wrong. But I'd rather have Rex than this loser. However, Rex was at work, ten miles away. I guess this loser would have to do.
I held up one finger. "Today only. And stay out of my way."
"I promise!" He held up the Boy Scout salute. "I swear on the feather cloak of the Bird Goddess…"
That was all I needed. "Don't do that." I froze. "Wait, did you say feather cloak of the Bird Goddess?"
Kurt said, "Yeah. Kayla talks about this Bird Goddess all the time and how she has this incredible cloak made out of feathers. I'm really hoping to meet her someday!"
I held out my hand. "Nice to meet you. I'm the Bird Goddess."
A look came over him that I'd like to describe as awe. "Seriously? I can't bring you in! Kayla would never speak to me again!"
I withdrew my hand. "That's right. And if you don't get in my way, I can put in a good word for you."
And what's this business about a feather cloak? I didn't have one. Maybe it was a surprise? I liked surprises. I decided to drop it so that Kurt wouldn't remember that he told me that.
Kurt mulled this over before nodding. "It's a deal."
That was all I needed—for word to get out to my troop that I'd let a Boy Scout help me. I'd never hear the end of it.
"Do you know Tyson Pancratz?" I studied him. He was the same age and size, with the same hair color of the victim. "You kind of look like him."
The kid shook his head. "No. Who's he?"
My patience was wearing thin. "The guy I allegedly killed."
His jaw dropped open. "I look like the guy you killed?"
"Allegedly," I repeated.
He pulled a notepad and golf pencil from his pocket and started to write. After a second, he squinted at the end of the pencil. "You wouldn't happen to have a pencil sharpener on you, would you?"
I turned away from him to face the shed. "Sorry. I usually do, but today I left it at home."
He failed to notice the sarcasm and appeared next to me, staring at the shed. "Why are you at this place?"
"This," I said, wondering why I was even telling him anything, "is where I allegedly killed Tyson Pancratz."
"You killed Tyson Pancratz in the Magnolia Girl office?"
Seriously? My hands involuntarily clenched into fists. The Magnolia Girls. I'd had a rather unfortunate run-in with them at a Civil War reenactment not too long ago. A group of Southern sympathizers, the Magnolia Girls were prissy and mean. It took everything I had to not allow Betty to beat them up.
"There's no sign that says that." I approached the door.
"Oh. That's 'cuz they moved a month ago."
"So it's the old Magnolia Girls office."
The genius, manly bounty hunter shook his head. "No, they still use it. They just do their stuff in another place. It's owned by Pump & Pawn. The owner lets them use it. I think his daughter was in it or something like that. But she's old…like thirty now."
I turned to him. "How do you know so much about the Magnolia Girls?"
"My cousin was in their group for about a year." He grimaced. "She suddenly started acting like she's all that, prancing around, demanding to be treated like a lady, spouting some old junk about the Civil War. My aunt pulled her out and put her in Girl Scouts."
"Sensible woman," I muttered as I stepped up to the door and reached for the knob.
I froze. I didn't need to add any more fingerprints to this place. I raced to my van, pulled some rubber gloves from the glove box, and returned.
"Why do you have those?" Kurt's eyes grew wide. "You really are a killer! Killers have those!"
"So do police officers, doctors, and nurses, to name a few." I snapped them on.
I grasped the doorknob and turned. It was locked. Crouching down, I studied the lock. It was an old one, and if I had my lock picks, I could open it. But I didn't. And kicking it in wouldn't help my situation either.
Moving to the papered-over windows, I tried the sills. They were locked tight too. Great. I walked around the building, taking everything in. Kurt followed, saying nothing. Maybe he was wary of me now that I had rubber gloves. That didn't seem like a bad thing.
Back at the front door, I folded my arms over my chest. I'd have to come back at night and let myself in. Moving under the cover of darkness has benefits because, hey, it's dark. It's also a risk because lights on inside a building that's been shuttered was a bad idea.
"Why don't you just use the key?" Kurt asked.
This guy was getting on my last nerve. Maybe I wouldn't put in a good word with Kayla after all. Sure, she was kind of an idiot, but I felt protective of my druids.
"How can I do that without a key?" I kept my voice measured to avoid exploding.
Kurt opened the mailbox and pulled out a key that he then fitted into the lock and turned. The door swung open.
Maybe he would be useful after all.
We walked into the building. The air was stuffy and stale. It hadn't been like that when I was inside this room last time. I flicked on a light.
The interior of the room was ringed with crime scene tape. Why was it on the inside and not the outside? The police here had a few screws loose. I walked to the table. No box of Lucky Charms. It had probably been confiscated for evidence.
If this had been in Who's There, police officer Kevin Dooley would've eaten the evidence. Kevin was not the brightest nor the best. A paste-eater back in kindergarten (and possibly still now), he'd been slow-witted all throughout our school years. Now he was on the Who's There police force and a bit of a thorn in my husband's side.
Kurt whistled. "So this is where you killed that guy. Why did you pick such a creepy spot?"
I sighed. "I didn't. I've already told you that I didn't kill anyone. I just sort of woke up here." I pointed to a Merry-shaped spot in the dust on the floor. "And found the deceased there." I walked over to the spot where I'd found the dead guy.
"Yeah, right!" Kurt snorted. "You're ex-CIA. How does someone get the jump on you?"
"I've been out of it for a few years," I grumbled. "And I was only in for a short time. I didn't really get all that polished… Wait! Why am I explaining this to you? I don't owe you an explanation."
"Jeez!" Kurt held out his hands. "Don't freak out. I was just asking."
"Well, don't ask any more stupid questions or else I'll waterboard you." I relaxed. "How did you know I was ex-CIA?"
"Kayla told me." He puffed up.
I guess the druids and half of Who's There knew. It just caught me off guard that this kid from Bladdersly did.
"And," he continued, "Harold told me."
"Harold?" My eyebrows went up. "How do you know Harold?"
"He's my uncle. He told us all about how he saved your life in Belize…"
"That. Did. Not. Happen." At any moment, steam could come out of my ears.
Kurt folded his arms over his chest. "Yes, it did. It's all in Beetle Dork."
I closed my eyes and counted to ten. It helped. "Just because something is in a comic book, it doesn't mean it's the truth."
And for the record, I saved Harold. It wasn't the other way around. He was a terrible agent and lasted all of twenty minutes in the field before he was almost killed. The Beetle Dork comic had gotten it wrong. Very wrong. But I didn't have time to explain that.
Instead, I walked around the room. There were some empty, cobwebby boxes and some Magnolia Girls pens that I hadn't noticed the night before, but not much else.
Kurt picked up one of the pens. "Someday…" he dreamed out loud, "I'm going to have business cards and pens!"
There was nothing here. No clues. No diary from the killer explaining how he'd done it. Not that I'd expected it, but it would've been nice. After looking around once more, we left the building and locked it up. Kurt was about to drop the key in the mailbox when I offered to do it. As he walked away, I slipped it back into the mailbox. Now that I knew where the key was, I was coming back here without Romeo. But he didn't need to know that.
"Maybe we should interview the neighbors," Kurt suggested. "They might know something. Then you can waterboard them."
"Do you know the neighbors?"
He brightened. "Oh sure. I know everyone here. I used to deliver newspapers to the whole town. I quit last month when Kayla said it was a kid's job. That's when I decided to become a bounty hunter."
He might be of some use to me still. "Okay. Tell me who the neighbors are."
"Well, that's The Opera House, where Uncle Harold lives and works. But you already know that."
The waterboarding idea would be far too tempting to try on Harold.
"And Pump & Pawn." He pointed to the strip mall in front of us. "It's owned by Mordecai Brown. And he has Pastor Malone as his security guard. He's very nice. Always tipped me at Christmas."
My witness. "Tell me about Pastor Malone. Is his vision good—can he see at night? Does he suffer from dementia?" All valid concerns for someone over seventy.
"He's a great guy!" Kurt said. "The best! He started up a foundation that gives to underprivileged children."
"Must be most of the town," I mumbled.
Kurt ignored me. "And he started the town's arts council, created the interfaith council, and volunteered for the local chapter of the Boys & Girls Club."
Great. A pastor and a saint. "But how is his vision? Or his mind? Is he a good witness?"
"Mordecai says he's got the eyesight of an eagle." Kurt launched into another stream of praise. "He saved a puppy from drowning last week. And I've heard he has a photographic memory."
It was like having the Pope or Superman as a witness against me. There'd be no fair trial if it took place here. I just needed to make sure it didn't get that far.
"Okay," I cut him off. "I get it. He's unimpeachable."
Kurt nodded. "Why are you asking about him?"
I sighed. "He's the witness against me."
The kid shook his head. "Man, are you screwed. Are you sure you don't want to go on the run?"
"If I did, you'd never catch me. But no, I'm still not planning to go on the run."
"Are you sure you didn't do it?" Kurt eyed me doubtfully.
"Yes." I ground my teeth. "I didn't do it. I didn't even know Tyson Pancratz. I'd never seen him before until waking up with him dead in the same room."
"It's funny, but I don't remember hearing of him before," Kurt mused. "And I know almost as many people as Pastor Malone."
That was funny. "You've never heard of him? How about Pancratz—do you know anyone by that name?"
The kid shook his head. "It's not a name from around here. At least, they never took the paper like everyone else."
I thought about what Kelly had said. "But my sources say he grew up here. Maybe you don't know everyone."
Kurt frowned. "That's possible, I guess. I mean, if Pastor Malone reported you two by name, Tyson must have been from here. But then, you're not from here, and he knows who you are."
I needed to get hold of Riley to see if he'd found out anything else about the deceased. Or the cause of death. Yeah, I know, Carnack was helping me out by not telling me. But I needed to know how I had "killed" him.
"I need to call Riley," I mused out loud.
The kid perked up. "Riley Andrews? The private eye?"
How did Kurt know Riley? "You know him?"
The kid rolled his eyes. "Do I! He's only the best private eye in the state! I'd love to work for him."
I gave the young man an arch look. "Best in the state? Where did you get that?"
"Everyone knows that!" Kurt looked defensive. "He's a huge deal in the biz." He paused and looked at me. "That means business."
"I know what it means. But I don't know what you mean. Riley is not the best. In fact, I probably am. I've solved more cases around here than he has."
"Yeah," he laughed. "Right."
I said nothing as I walked to the van and unlocked it.
"Are you going on the lam now?" Kurt shouted eagerly as he ran to his car.
"No. And stop following me," I barked as I got inside and closed the door.
"But I thought I was helping," he pouted.
"Unless you can get someone to prove Pastor Malone a liar, you're not of much use to me."
I watched him in the rearview mirror as I drove away. He was writing in his notebook.
"Riley," I said as my former handler answered on the first ring. "What do you know?"
"Wrath." He sounded irked. "I'm in the middle of a case right now."
Glancing at the dashboard, I realized it was evening. "What's her name? Of course, it has to be a first date since, when she finds out what a jerk you are, you'll be lucky to get a second."
"I'll ignore that," he said. "You're upset and a major suspect in a murder."
I repeated my question. "What do you know?"
"You mean since this morning?"
"Yes. Since then. I understand you're the best PI in the state. How come you haven't solved this by now?"
"Where did you hear that?" He sounded pleased with himself.
"From a delusional bounty hunter."
"You're on the run? Christ, Merry! You could've given me a little more time to figure this out."
"He's a kid, and he's been following me. I'm not on the run. Enough of this crap. Did you talk to Soo Jin?"
"I did. She says he was stabbed in the heart with a stiletto knife. Hey, don't you have one of those?"
I did have one of those. It was at home in the bathroom cabinet.
"Anything new on Pancratz?" I was almost to Who's There.
"Nothing. It's like this guy didn't exist," Riley answered.
I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel. "That's what Kurt said."
"Who's Kurt?"
"The bounty hunter."
"Okay," he said. "I'll call you tomorrow." In the background I heard a woman giggling.
I hung up, and my cell rang. It was Rex.
"Sorry, babe," my husband said. "I'm stuck at the office until late. There was a brawl at the hospital. It'll take a while to sort things out."
"No problem," I said. "See you later."
I needed to hash things out, and I knew the one person who'd listen.
"Hey, Mr. Fancy Pants!" I said cheerfully to the king vulture. "Mrs. Fancy Pants," I said to the female. "Hilly," I said to the chick.
The vulture and I had been through a lot together. But his missus didn't know me yet, and since they had a chick, I didn't let myself into the enclosure like I normally did.
Mr. Fancy Pants tapped on the glass, then looked at my bag with his googly eyes.
Oh crap. I should've swung by the house first. "Sorry. I didn't bring any cookies."
The raptor was obsessed with Girl Scout cookies, and I always brought him a box of crushed shortbread cookies. I'd let him down.
The bird looked at me with disgust and hopped up onto the large tree log, opening his wings wide to show me who's boss.
"I know," I said.
The female studied me for a moment, then started grooming the chick. She didn't find me a real threat, which was good because I didn't want her to think I was trying to steal her man.
"So how are you guys doing?" I asked. When he didn't answer, I continued. "I was arrested for murder. I didn't do it, but…"
"Murderer!"
I'd been so focused on the little vulture family that I'd forgotten about Dickie, the scarlet macaw who kept Mr. Fancy Pants company. A truly obnoxious bird, he liked repeating the things the sullen teenage boy who cleaned up after him said.
"I am not a murderer," I said quietly.
"Mom! You bought me generic deodorant!" the macaw ranted. "I need Axe body spray! For the laaaaaaadies!"
Ugh. I turned back to the vultures to see Fancy Pants centimeters from the window, staring me down.
If you've never seen a king vulture before, it might come as somewhat of a shock. From South America, the birds' bodies are white with black trim at the wings. Their heads look like they came in a prize pack from a box of sugary cereal, drawn by a toddler who watched too many cartoons and ate too much of said sugary cereal.
The bald heads are black and purple. A bright orange wattle flops over the beak. Blue skin forms their cheeks, and their necks are a riot of orange and red. The raptors also have two googly eyes that seem to rotate in different directions.
"I said I was sorry," I explained as he tapped on the glass once more.
"Mom!" Dickie shrieked. "It's not porn! It's manga!"
It took all I had not to turn to the macaw. I wondered if the kid smuggled Dickie home at night.
"So anyway," I continued. "I didn't kill this guy who grew up in Bladdersly but nobody knows, and now I have a bounty hunter on my tail. Granted, he's not a very good bounty hunter. And it looks like the guy was stabbed with a knife similar to one I have. Although I know that knife is at home in the bathroom."
Why do I have a knife in the bathroom? For security, duh. I also have a gun in the oven and a machete under my bed. You can't be too careful.
Mr. Fancy Pants continued to stare but seemed a little less angry.
"But the weird thing is, I woke up wearing a shirt I didn't even own. That's got to be a clue, right?"
"That's not mine! I don't know how it got there!" Dickie squawked.
"The problem is that everyone seems to think I'm in big trouble, including Rex. He doesn't think I did it, but he's very worried because some pastor says he saw me shove Tyson Pancratz into the building where I didn't kill him."
Mr. Fancy Pants blinked.
"I suppose I could find a way to discredit him. I mean, I've done that before."
Back in Colombia when I was undercover with Carlos the Armadillo, I discredited his grandmother after she saw me snooping in his desk. When she ratted me out, I told him she was sampling the cocaine in his absence. When he found a baggie with the product in her nightstand, a hidden stash of every season of The Kardashians hidden in her knitting basket (I mean, really, what sane person watches that show?), and security camera footage (cleverly edited) of her talking to a donkey at the same time she had seen me in the den, he sent her to a lovely nursing home in Belize.
I've heard she likes it better there.
"It would be tough though. This guy is like the Mother Teresa of Bladdersly."
Still, if worse came to worst, it was a workable Plan B.
"I read the swimsuit issue for the articles!" Dickie screeched.
"Well." I got to my feet. "As usual, this has been totally enlightening. But I'd better get back home. I've got a troop meeting, and I'm seeing my lawyer tomorrow."
Fancy Pants nodded as if he understood and went back to his wife and baby.
"That's not weed! It's oregano!" Dickie squawked as I let myself out.