A Murder in Christmas Village (Christmas Village Mysteries Book 0) (3 page)

Maribel beamed bright between cherry red cheeks. “Perhaps if you were to ask ‘Why’, you’d see that the answers you’ve received by asking ‘How’ and ‘What’ cease to make any sense.”

“I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

“Yes, Maribel, what do you mean?” said Doc.

“If Mr. Bundy were caught unaware with the news that he was going to be fired that night, then when would he have had the time to figure out a way to enter a room with dust on the floor and yet leave no prints? I believe we can all agree that whatever the method, it was ingenious. And the man you’ve described to us seems to be nothing of the sort. No disrespect intended to Mr. Bundy.”

“Who knows, Maribel? Criminals, even dumb ones, can be cunning. If we could figure out all their tricks, there’d be no crime and I’d be out of a job. And we don’t know when Bundy found out he was being fired. It could have been days ago. I imagine a lot of people in that group gossip.”

“But you see, if the wood was cut not long before the murder, then Mr. Bundy would have had no cause to be concerned about foot prints, no matter how long in advance he might have planned the murder. But that’s not what bugs me the most.”

“Me either,” said Angela.

“Oh yeah, Scoopy Doo? And what is it that bothers you?” said Bentley, trying to be playful, but the look on Angela’s face was all business.

“If you’re right and Bundy murdered Wilkinson, then he went to an awful lot of trouble to not leave any tracks. Yet he must have known that everything else about the murder, from the cut throat to the locked door, screamed his name. As a lock picking, knife throwing, convicted criminal, he had to expect he’d be the prime suspect. So why bother walking on air to kill a man when you know you’re going to go down for it anyway?”

“Such a bright girl,” said Maribel, her always rosy cheeks in full bloom. “Hard to believe you’re my brother’s daughter.”

“Auntie, please. Well, Deputy Bentley?”

“I don’t know, all right? I don’t have all the answers. But maybe we’re making too much out of this foot print thing. What if it was all just an accident? What if Bundy stormed into that room after Wilkinson and just happened to step in the foot prints already made by Wilkinson with those big boots of his? He cuts Wilkinson’s throat, turns, and leaves the same way. He might not have even noticed the dust on the floor.”

The other three were stunned for a moment. Angela was the first to speak. “That actually makes sense in a pedestrian sort of way.”

“Thanks…or same to you. I’m not sure if that was a compliment or an insult.”

“I hate to rain on your parade, Deputy -”Doc Wilcox had spent the last couple of minutes leaning against the wall and wiping his glasses. Now that he was ready to take his turn, he replaced his glasses and stepped away from the wall, taking his place in the light. “- but I’m afraid that theory doesn’t fit the evidence. You see, Mr. Wilkinson’s boots were tailor-made for him, and for whatever reason, he had the letter ‘W’ emblazoned on the soul of each boot and another ‘W’ on each heel. I would imagine it was to signify his persona of ‘Wild Willy’. But what’s important is that when he stepped in the dust these W’s left their mark as well, and when I saw them with my own eyes they were as fresh as the moment he left them.”

Bentley sighed. “So, we’re back to square one.”

Angela flipped through her little notebook. “Since we’re stuck on square one for the time being, let me just recap and you three can tell me if I’ve missed anything pertinent.”

“Now, I thought we were just talking,” Doc said, waving a finger. “I don’t want any quotes in the paper without my say so.”

“You’ve got my word on that, Doctor Wilcox. I think at this point we all just want to know what happened.”

“Very well then, let’s hear what you’ve got.”

Angela took a deep breath as though she were preparing to sing, but instead she began quoting from her notes. “Let’s see, we have Willard Wilkinson seen inside the prop room at six-fifteen, alone and with the door open. At six-fifty-nine, Carlton Moore, the theater manager, is summoned to unlock the door and the body is discovered. It is some five feet into the room, the floor of which is covered in fresh saw dust. There are two sets of foot prints in the room, neither of which could have belonged to the killer. The victim died of a severed carotid artery. No weapon was found in the room. The only entrance and exit to the room is the door that leads into the hall. The deadbolt on the door was found locked, but the only keys were with Mr. Wilkinson and Carlton Moore, who is known to have been nowhere near the room at the time the murder must have been committed. The only suspect we have is Tex Bundy, a convicted thief and known lock pick who performed as a knife thrower. Bundy had the means, motive, and opportunity to commit the murder, though there’s still no explanation for the lack of foot prints. Either Bundy is guilty, or somebody is working hard to make him look guilty. Does that about sum it up?”

“That’s about it as far as I can tell,” said Doc. “But for what it’s worth, the cut on the neck was on the right side of his throat and moved from back to front. If the killer were standing behind him, as I would expect, that would make him left-handed.”

“What if the killer were standing in front of him?” asked Angela.

“Same thing. It would take a southpaw to make that cut. But it’s all mox nix since no one else was in the room with him.”

All the fight seemed to have left Bentley, who merely nodded in agreement. “Well, all is not lost. The sheriff is grilling Bundy, Deputy Shelton is still taking statements from some of the hands, and Deputy Pace is going through everyone’s cell phones. We might catch a break yet.”

Maribel chuckled. “You are most right, young man. All is most certainly not lost.”

“I know that tone, Auntie,” said Angela. “You have an idea, don’t you?”

“An idea? Yes, oh yes. Nothing more, though. Deputy Bentley, am I to understand that Mrs. Wilkinson and Mr. Dandridge are being sequestered somewhere as we speak?”

“Yes, they’re in rooms down the west hall. Why do you ask?”

“I’ve never had the privilege of meeting a real-life western performer. I thought I might drop in and say ‘hello’.”

Maribel slowly walked along the hallway indicated by Bentley, trying to find one of the subjects with whom she’d like to speak. She realized she’d never experienced the theater in such solitude before and took a moment to appreciate the wooden trim that ran along and through the ornate designs hand-painted on the walls more than a century before.

Maribel loved old buildings and amused herself by imagining that she could sense the history in them; that for the briefest of moments she could reach into the worlds of those who had stood in a spot before her. She heard the sound of sobbing and the faint cry of “Please, let me out of here.” This was not the past she was hearing, it was the here and now, and it was emanating from a room just a few doors up from where she stood.

She knocked and opened the door without waiting for a response. Sitting alone in the room behind a clerk’s abandoned desk was an attractive woman who Maribelplaced somewhere in her early to middle thirties. She couldn’t be more certain than that on account of the torrents of tears and smeared make-up.

“Mrs. Wilkinson?”

“Who are you? Please get me out of here. I’ve been sitting here for hours.”

“I’m sure the sheriff will see to you any time now. Please excuse me, Mrs. Wilkinson, and accept my deepest sympathies for your loss. My name is Maribel Claus. I can only imagine what you’re going through. I didn’t like the thought of you left all alone in this room and thought I’d drop in to see if there’s anything you need. Water? Some tissue?”

Maribel noticed that Pinky’s left hand was streaked in make-up from wiping at her tear-sodden face. She also noticed that the cherry red nail polish on her left index finger was chipped.

“Yes, I could use some tissue. Or a towel.”

Maribel reached into her shoulder bag and produced a travel pack of tissue and set it on the desk. “Here you go, dear.” Pinky grabbed for it with her streaked hand.

“Thank you,” said Pinky. “So you don’t work with the police?”

“No, no. You could say I’m just here to make sure they do their jobs properly.”

“Well, they’re not, I can tell you that. My husband is murdered and they lock me in this room, don’t tell me what’s going on. Nothing.”

“Nobody has been by to speak with you?”

“I gave my statement to a deputy two hours ago. That’s why I don’t understand why I’m still here.”

“I would imagine the police will have follow up questions for you.” Maribel winked. “I hear they have a suspect.”

“Oh? Thank goodness. Who is it?”

“A fellow by the name of Bundy, I hear.”

“I knew it! When I heard that Willy had been cut, I just knew it. Tex is the knife man for the show, you know.”

“Yes, so I hear. I also hear that you’re rather good with a rope?”

“I do some lasso tricks, but I’m most known for the whip. I do this thing where I flip my whip and split celery in half, or bananas, or whatever. People love that. My daddy was a rancher and a showman. He raised me like the son he never had and I took to the whip right away. It’s always been my thing.”

“I see. And where’s your whip now?”

“There are four, and the police have them. Took everything. My cell phone too. I can’t even make a call. This is crazy.”

Maribel ignored her angst. “I understand you’re also involved in the business affairs of the show?”

“Yeah, I do a lot of the bookings and logistics. Willard was useless at organizing. I don’t touch the money, though. That’s all Clint Dandridge.”

“You and your husband trust him with your finances?”

“Oh yes. He’s a millionaire, you know, so he must know a thing or two about it. And very shrewd to boot. Some theater owners think they can take advantage of me because I’m a woman, but put Clint on the phone and five minutes later they’re giving us the stage practically for free. Some people just have a knack for that, I guess.”

“Yes, indeed. So you and Clint work together?”

“It’s a small troupe, we all work together. Tour every summer. It used to be more for fun than anything, but the last couple of years Willy and I have really needed the money. The scrapping business has its highs and lows like everything else, and we’ve been on a long low. I dare say that if not for Clint’s business savvy and generosity, we would have gone under.”

“I thank you for your time, Mrs. Wilkinson, but I’ll get out of your hair now. I’m sure the sheriff will be in to see you any minute.”

“Please, call me Pinky.”

“Hmmm…yes…Pinky.”

“And your name again was?”

“Claus. Maribel Claus.”

“Claus? As in –“

“Yes, he’s my husband. Good evening, Mrs…Pinky…and please, keep the tissue.”

Maribel found herself in the hall again and saw that there were four rooms remaining that she had not yet passed. One was embossed with a fading old sign reading ‘Manager’ that Maribel guessed had been there since the 1920s. She knew that behind that door Sheriff Fell would be lurching around the room, trying to intimidate Tex Bundy into a confession. She also knew that he wouldn’t stay in there forever, so if she hoped to get the answers she sought, she’d have to find them quickly.

            She guessed they wouldn’t put Pinky and Dandridge in neighboring rooms so she went to the last door on the left, just across from the manager’s office. She knocked lightly and opened the door.

“It’s about time,” said the man sitting not at the desk, but on top of it. “I was beginning to think I’d been forgotten about.”

“There’s little danger of that. Clint Dandridge, I take it?”

“Yes, that’s me. But I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure?”

“It’s good to meet you, my name is Maribel Claus.”

“Claus? As in – “

“Yes, my husband,” she said dismissively, as she was wont to do when her objective was not getting sidetracked. “I’m sorry to barge in on you like this, but if you’d be so kind as to humor me with answers to a few questions. It’s so rare I get to meet a master marksman.”

The chiseled middle-aged man with perfectly coifed salt and pepper hair tossed his head back in a laugh. “Marksman? You flatter me, Mrs. Claus. Pistols are my thing. The older, the better. To hold a gun and to think that a hundred or more years ago a man – an outlaw – had perhaps fired it and taken another life. I know it’s all in my head. A gun is just a piece of metal. But the history that comes with an old gun -”

“It gives you a sense of connection to the person who held it before. Yes, I understand.”

“So you’re a gun lover, are you?”

“No, oh no. I’ve never held one in my life. But oh how I love my antique trinkets. I’ll pull one from its cozy and try to imagine all the rooms it adorned in its previous homes; all the life it’s seen. It’s a bit silly, I suppose, and it’s not a habit I’m inclined to share with others, but I sense that you feel the same way about your guns.”

Mr. Dandridge smiled warmly at Maribel and allowed his shoulders to loosen and drop. “It’s a passion most can’t understand. Willard – Wild Willy, that is – understood it. Best shot I’d ever seen. When he asked me to join the show, it was a dream come true.”

“You must be quite a shot yourself.”

“Me? Well, I don’t know. So I’m told. I resigned myself long ago to being number two. There’s only one Wild Willy.”

“Was, you mean. Now that he’s gone, I suppose that makes you the ‘top banana’, as the young folks say.”

“I’m not sure young people still say that, but yes, I guess you’re right. I hadn’t thought about that.”

“I spoke with Mrs. Wilkinson a moment ago and she intimated that if not for your financial support and – how did she put it? – business savvy, Wild Willy’s Western World would have folded some years back. You don’t strike me as a man who’s made a habit of investing himself in a venture that wouldn’t benefit him financially. Yet I don’t see how a summer road show would be considered a wise investment.”

Dandridge laughed, his head going back again, suggesting it was a well-rehearsed mannerism. “Financially, it’s break-even at best. But some things are more important than money, as I’m sure you can appreciate. It’s always been my dream to be a cowboy. I guess you could say I’m living out my childhood.”