School for Sleuths by Dan Andriacco

Author:Dan Andriacco [Andriacco, Dan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: mystery
Publisher: Wildside Press LLC
Published: 2018-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

THE MORNING AFTER MURDER

Dick Mobarry was on his way to work Friday morning, listening to police calls on the scanner, when he heard:

“…think so. I’m leaving the scene of that homicide on Cherry Tree Lane.” Holy shit—a murder on Viola Beamer’s street! What if it was her?

Mobarry redirected his car toward Delhi Township and called his wife, who was already at work at Annie’s Catering, to tell her he’d be in late.

“Are you screwing around chasing police calls again?”

“Ease up. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

The night before he tried to tune in on Viola’s car phone again. Finn always said that luck favored the persistent. But after waiting an hour and not seeing the white Escort pull out of her garage, he decided he must have just missed Viola leaving for work. The Escort hadn’t been in the rest home parking lot, either. He figured then that Viola must have had the night off.

Now she was dead, or one of her neighbors was, and Cherry Tree Lane was crawling with cops. Mobarry saw the Sheriff’s Department cruisers as soon as he turned onto the street.

Two or three of the black-and-whites were parked in front of the Beamer house. A deputy sheriff stood on her front walk, putting his walkie-talkie back on his belt. So it was Viola Beamer who was dead, or at least her house that was the scene of murder. Mobarry would drive by, see if he could catch sight of Viola inside the house. Finn would expect that.

There was a car in front of Mobarry, a yellow Camaro. He’d seen it before, or one just like it, parked a couple of doors away from the Beamer house the other day. A neighbor, he’d figured. By why would a resident who parked at that end of the street be driving on this end at seven­-thirty in the morning?

Little things like that bugged Mobarry.

The Camaro slowed almost to a stop as the only person in the car, the woman driving, stared at the commotion in front of the Beamer house. A natural reaction, Mobarry thought. But then she stepped on the gas and sped away, as if she were running from something.

On impulse, Mobarry followed her.

* * * * *

Gus Hackleshin’s toast was buttered, his coffee was poured, and his cereal was snap-crackle-and-popping at him. The only thing missing was his morning newspaper. Why was Gloria taking so long to retrieve it off the front lawn?

The thought had no more than formed in his mind before Gus heard the front door open and close. Gloria barreled into the kitchen.

“What’s the matter?”

“You won’t believe what happened.” Her china-doll face was flushed with excitement. “Somebody killed Viola Beamer.”

He grabbed the newspaper out of her hand. “Let me see that.”

“It’s not in there.” Gloria sat across the table from him. She was roughly half Gus’s size, in every dimension, but never nagged him about his weight, not even at meals. “I saw a bunch of cop cars next door, so I went over and asked what was going on.

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