Pastor Malone was in bad shape. Looking through the window into his room, I could see that the nurse had hooked him up to an IV and was monitoring his vitals. As badly as I felt for the guy, I really wanted to talk to him. If he named his kidnapper and explained why he didn't recognize me even though he'd said he'd seen me, all of this could be over.
"You're pacing again," Rex said.
I stopped and looked at him. "Not my fault that all of my snacks are loaded with sugar."
Rex asked, "Why is it you don't remember anything from the night of the murder?"
I sat down next to him. "I don't know. Isn't that weird? I mean, I should at least remember what I was doing before whatever happened to me. And I still have no idea why I was wearing that shirt."
I'd been so wrapped up in trying to find the real killer, and saving pastors from kidnappers, that I hadn't stopped to think about how I'd gotten into the shed in the first place.
"Do you remember what happened that night?"
Rex thought for a moment. "Only that you'd left your favorite water bottle at the old house after a troop meeting. Just before I fell asleep, you said you were going to go get it. I passed out and only woke up when Carnack called me."
Huh. My insulated, stainless steel Girl Scout cup had been a gift from the troop. "Have you seen it at home? I haven't."
Rex ran his hands through his hair. "No. And since I've been doing dishes with you out galivanting around, I should have."
I got up. "Stay here. Let me know what happens. I'm going to go look for it. And something else."
"That's probably a good idea. What's the other thing?"
I winked at him. "Whatever shirt I was wearing. I'm sure I didn't go to bed in a Best Bye shirt."
"No." Rex shook his head. "You were wearing your Dora the Explorer pajamas. You changed from the bottoms into jeans so that if someone spotted you, they'd think you were dressed. I haven't seen the top either."
I might have broken a few speed limits on my way home, and I didn't bother with our house, focusing on my old house across the street. After unlocking the door, I stepped inside. Nothing looked any different.
Had the killer rendered me unconscious in my own house? That took some nerve. I searched the place in a few minutes but didn't spot the shirt or tumbler. Maybe I hadn't made it inside? Maybe the killer caught me before I entered. I'd have grabbed it if I had been inside my old house, and it would be lying in the yard. Then again, maybe I had retrieved the cup before he grabbed me. That would mean the killer had my cup!
I wandered back outside and sat down on the front stoop. The killer must've taken both things and tossed them. Closing my eyes, I tried hard to remember what had happened, but my memory refused to cooperate. For some reason, the idea that the killer had taken my cup seemed more and more plausible.
How had he gotten me from here to the shed? And why bother taking my shirt? Why change what I was wearing? What was the significance of the Best Bye shirt? And why had he taken the cup?
His fingerprints must have been on it, and instead of taking the time to wipe them off, he just took it with him and pitched it somewhere. Dammit. I loved that cup.
I got to my feet and stared at our house across the street. I had left to come over here. The cup was missing, which definitely meant that I went inside, got the cup, and then the cup and I vanished.
Argh!!! I was exhausted. I could take a quick nap, but I wanted this over and done with.
What if I retraced my steps? It couldn't hurt. I got into the van as if I'd been kidnapped and lay there for a moment on the passenger seat.
But you can't drive when unconscious, so this reenactment wouldn't be perfect. So I turned the key and took the most direct route to Bladdersly, keeping an eye on the sides of the road for the cup or shirt.
I drove slowly, shining a flashlight on each side of the road as I went. I was halfway to Bladdersly when I spotted something shiny in a ditch. After pulling over, I ran to the spot where my insulated cup lay. My cup! Yay! I ran back to my van for a pen and, upon returning, used it to pick up the cup and stick it in my console.
The muddy water had probably washed away any fingerprints, but I'd leave that to the professionals. Getting back into the car, I continued on to Bladdersly. If I'd found this piece of evidence, perhaps I'd find something at the shed that might jog my memory.
My Dora shirt was still missing. When I pulled into the parking lot where the shed was, the sun had started to come up. After getting the key from the mailbox, I let myself inside and closed the door behind me.
The table was still there, and everything looked the same except for the missing box of cereal. A little door in my mind opened just a smidge. There had been a box of Lucky Charms at my old house. I remember that I'd worried it would go stale just sitting there and had wanted to bring it to the other house!
I remembered something! This was good news! But why just that fragment? Why not the whole thing? Closing my eyes, I willed the rest of my brain to wake up. I gave up after a few minutes. If that came back to me, maybe other stuff would too.
The bookshelf still sported copies of Boats of the Midwest. Maybe Mordecai bought out the print run in hopes of hiding the book because he hated how he was portrayed. That would make sense since his alter ego, Menachem, had committed some pretty serious infractions. This was his shed. I was becoming more certain that Tyson was Anonymous.
Had Mordecai lured Tyson to the shed and killed him? Vanderzee and an unknown person had driven past here at the time. Mordecai and Vanderzee had been together at Mordecai's house. Perhaps Vanderzee brought Tyson here. Or was it me? If Vanderzee was the one who'd kidnapped me, I could be the hazy figure in his car.
It made sense. But besides my finding Malone tied up at Mordecai's, there was no real proof that he was the killer with Vanderzee assisting.
How did the killer lock us in the room from the outside? I curled my fingers into a fist, and it hit me as the key bit into my palm. Oh, duh! The killer locked me in from the outside and stuck the key in the mailbox. Well, that answered that. Seemed pretty obvious, and for a moment, I was embarrassed that I hadn't thought of it before. Maybe that's because the police had said I'd locked the door from the inside. And I'd fallen for that.
While it was great to have that part of the mystery solved, there were many other questions. Why frame me, besides Vanderzee's obvious dislike of me? Why change my shirt?
I took a few deep breaths. Think, Merry!
After ten more minutes of searching the shed, I had nothing. Maybe I'd think of something on the way home. Or maybe I'd drive past Mordecai's house. It was possible that the sheriff had found something since I'd last talked to him.
About five minutes later, I pulled into Mordecai's driveway. The house had crime scene tape wrapped around it. The lights were out. That was a quick investigation.
I brightened. The sheriff must've gotten Mordecai to confess, and they took him in! I could be in the clear! Turning to the house, I got the feeling that I should take a look on my own. The sheriff would never know I'd been here.
Grabbing a pair of rubber gloves from my van, I went around back to the cellar doors. For some reason, even though this led down to the actual crime scene, there was no tape on them. That was weird. You'd think that this area in particular would at least be dusted for fingerprints. It was…
Oh, for crying out loud, Merry! You don't care! Just go in!
I pulled open the door on the right, turned on my flashlight, and made my way into the basement for the second time in one day. There was the chair, right where we'd left it, with the ropes I'd cut off of Malone's hands pooled on the floor behind it.
Crime scene tape blocked off the stairs that led to the main floor. I'd only been in here a short time, and that had been taken up with watching for Mordecai's return and getting Malone to move.
A table across from the chair was littered with various knives. A shudder ran through me. Torture. I hated torture. At least I got the pastor out before Mordecai started in on him. I walked around the basement. Were there copies of Boats here? If so, I couldn't find them. Just the usual crap people have in their basement. Including a litter box. Effie really did live here.
Poor cat. Her owner was going to prison. Maybe Rex would let me adopt her? With that thought comforting me, I walked over to the chair. It was a sturdy oak chair, the kind Grandma Wrath kept in her house for when we needed to add to the dinner table or to sit on when tornadoes came around.
I bent down and picked up the rope, fiddling with it like a fidgety kid. There was nothing here. Nothing, at least, that could tell me more about Malone being held here for the last couple of days.
Effie meowed upstairs. I guess it couldn't hurt to make sure the cat had food and water. It would only take a minute to check. Ducking under the tape, I made my way upstairs and into the kitchen.
Sure enough, the cat dishes were empty. Effie jumped onto the kitchen table and eyed me suspiciously. I didn't blame her. The cat had only seen me two times. Once in the dark when I was hiding under the bed, and again, in the dark, as I threw her through the air.
"Hey, Effie." I scratched her chin, and her eyes rolled back into her head.
I still had the rope in my other hand. I stuffed it into my pocket so I could put it back after feeding the cat. I found a bag of dried cat food and poured some into one bowl, filling the other one with water. Effie attacked it, gulping it down as if she'd never been fed a moment in her life. This was a lie. I knew that because Philby did the same thing, twice a day—as if I'd forget that I'd already fed her once.
After turning the kitchen light back off and sneaking down the stairs, I pulled the rope out of my pocket. I was about to drop it onto the floor when it hit me like the log in Betty's closet. I sank down onto the chair as the various puzzle pieces that had been floating around finally fit themselves together in my head.
Oh. Wow. I knew who'd killed Tyson, and I had a pretty good idea why. I still couldn't remember how I had gotten to the shed or why I was wearing the blue shirt. But I knew the important stuff.
I ran to the van and roared out onto the gravel road, skidding a little as I did.
As I came close to Who's There, a text popped up on my cell. I didn't have time to look at it, and I was driving too fast on a gravel road, which meant that needed my attention for the moment.
Another ding indicated that there was another text. It was probably Rex wondering where I'd gotten to. Or maybe Pastor Malone had come to at the hospital! I was just pulling into the parking lot when my cell dinged again.
It was Kelly. She had news and wondered why I wasn't responding. I read the texts. And then I smiled.
I knew who'd killed Tyson. And now I had proof.